


We Are Made of the Smallest Stars

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Magic, Nonbinary Character, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: All Jehan wanted to do was raise an undead soul. Who would have thought that would make things so complicated?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jehan puts the romance in necromancy

Jehan twirls around their workbench, twittering a small song to themself. It's promising to be a bright, fresh morning, with lavender blooming on the windowsill and flowers wafting fragrance up from the garden and a delicate sweetness in the smooth sunny air. Everything is perfect, sweet-perfect, peach-perfect; notes of gold are drifting through the warm summery haze, and the very atmosphere is as glittering and enchanting as it comes. Today's the day, the beautiful, magical, golden-pink aurora day-- a new opportunity for growth and joyousness and everything good.

Because today, Jehan is going to raise the dead.

A flapping of wings interrupts Jehan's song, and they look up, smiling. "Gorbeau!"

"Jehan."

It's the only thing Gorbeau can say, but that doesn't bother Jehan much. For an undead, resurrected-but-not-fully-animal crow, he makes a pretty good companion. He's not quite a familiar, more like a glorified pet, but he's very precious to Jehan, especially in the workshop. 

"Gorbeau," Jehan tells him now. "Could you please fetch me my spell book?"

"Jehan," says Gorbeau disapprovingly. Jehan laughs.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry. The crocodile-skin one."

With a flap of ashy wings, Gorbeau swoops over to the messy bookshelf and delicately picks the book in question. Several unrelated papers come with it, but Jehan isn't too worried. They'll ask Joly to come in here later and clean it up for them. They reach up their hand and catch the book as Gorbeau drops it, almost out of reach (he never did have very good spatial awareness).

"Thank you, my dear!"

Slipping on their favorite pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses, Jehan opens the book to the well-worn page at the very end of the book, marked under _Do Not Attempt_. It might be a difficult spell (scratch that, _the_ most difficult spell), but they're so close, and they just need a few more things to get it right. 

"Another sub-spell," they think out loud to themself, perusing the page. "All right, another sub-spell, that’s just a mouse in the hole. I can do this. What do I need?"

Gorbeau flaps at the page, sweeping the tip of a wing across the runes. Every ancient spell is written in them, and they're incredibly difficult to learn. Only Combeferre can read them fluently, and that's because ey's spent years teaching emself. With great difficulty, though, Jehan thinks they can translate this part.

" _The tears of an angel, the heart of a stone, a feather of dust, and a conjurer's bone_ ," they mumble to themself, finally working the difficult symbols back into standard Parole. They suppose the rhyming is inessential, really-- but they've always had a flair for the dramatic. It's a fairly easy spell, once they make sense of it. Magic isn't set in stone; a spell can be realized in many different ways, according to the caster's interpretation, and each of them can be successful. It all depends on the imagination. 

Well, Jehan has plenty of that. They reach for Gorbeau's ragged tail. "May I, friend?"

"Jehan," squawks Gorbeau, so with a flick of their wrist, Jehan tugs and yanks out one of the pale, harsh feathers. 

"A feather of dust," they say, out loud. "Thank you, Gorbeau."

"Jehan."

It's so nice having him in the workshop, and not just because he can help with spells like this. It's also encouraging, knowing he's completely on their side. That's how it is to have a sort-of-familiar; it's friendship and easy trust and help whenever necessary, all rolled into one. People who have this are lucky indeed.

"Now!" Jehan pats Gorbeau on the head, a gentle thank-you for all their help, and picks him up onto their hand. "I need to find those angel tears. Could you be a blessing and go see if Enjolras is awake?"

"Jehan."

While Gorbeau flies off on his errand, Jehan turns to Courfeyrac's collection of precious stones, arranged neatly on the desk. He won't mind if they borrow one for their spell-- afterwards, if all goes well, they'll do a burst to clear it of all lingering energy, and it'll be good as new. They select a pretty amethyst, and drop it onto the table beside the feather. It should work well for this purpose, they're pretty sure. This spell is shaping up nicely.

They're digging around the back of the workshop looking for that tooth of Bahorel's that he lost last year (tavern brawls only have him winning half the time, no matter what he might say), when the door opens, and there's a light, sweet voice behind him.

"Gorbeau came to fetch me?"

"Enjolras." Jehan straightens up, smiling, then just as quickly frowning when they note the wan look on their friend's face. "My dear, did you stay up all night again?"

"I didn't mean to," Enjolras says. "But I got pickered on a spell, and I went to Combeferre's room to research..."

"And the two of you stayed up talking again," finishes Jehan. "All right, well. Go find Joly after this and get him to do a burst on you, will you?"

"Sure," says Enjolras agreeably. Jehan breathes a sigh of relief. Sometimes the boy can be a bit intractable. 

"Now," they say, fetching a vial from the shelf above them and setting it down in front of Enjolras, "Do you mind helping me?"

"Of course. Did you need a lock of my hair?"

"No, who needed that?"

"Grantaire. He wanted a strand of the purest gold for a counter-spell."

"Ah, of course. But no, I was actually hoping you could cry for me."

Enjolras raises one eyebrow. "Cry for you?"

"If you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

Enjolras picks up the vial and positions it under his eye. He blinks a few times, then his pretty face droops into a pout, and a crystal tear starts sliding slowly into the glass. It's so convenient that he can cry on command-- it's gotten them all out of some tight-squeeze spots before. 

Once Enjolras has collected enough tears to wet the bottom of the vial, he smiles, still a little teary, but as radiant as ever, and hands it over. 

"Is that enough?"

"It's perfect, thank you." Jehan takes the vial and puts in on the table with the other ingredients, then turns and lays a hand on Enjolras's warm golden head. "Go see Joly. And get some breakfast while you're at it."

"I already ate," Enjolras protests. "Combeferre cooked for me. Ey made omelettes."

Jehan has to take a moment and just think about Combeferre's omelettes. They're legendary throughout the house (and probably the neighborhood, too). "Does ey have any left?"

"I'll come by and bring you some," Enjolras promises. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet like he does when he's tired. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, not for now. Go get your burst."

Enjolras smiles, kisses Jehan on the cheek, and scratches Gorbeau between the wings. "I'll see you later, then!"

"See you, Enjolras."

Gorbeau follows Enjolras to the door and pecks at him as he leaves, his version of a friendly kiss. He's irrationally fond of him, to the point that Jehan sometimes wonders where his true loyalties lie. Fortunately, he doesn't follow him out, though, and comes flapping back to the workbench as soon as the door closes. Jehan gives him a loving tap on the beak.

“Ten bits to one, you love that boy more than me."

"Jehan," says Gorbeau teasingly. Jehan rolls their eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Come help me find Bahorel's tooth, will you?"

It takes awhile, but finally Jehan finds the tooth inside a box of fight trophies, and they bring it to put with the other ingredients of the spell. As soon as they draw the circle around them, they all start glowing with aura-- a good sign.

"Perfect," they say to themself. "All right, you spell. Let's do this."

Casting is fairly straightforward for an experienced magic user. It takes creativity and a certain amount of verbal intelligence, but it's not as physically draining as mage-work is, because the spells work as a channel for the natural forces. In mage-work, the user works directly with the elements of magic, something which can be awfully exhausting, especially in tricky situations. Still, Jehan has always been more comfortable with it, preferring the raw, lawless feeling. They suppose that's why they specialize in conjuring-- secretly necromancy-- working with the dead is the most lawless of all.

That's what they're doing today, and have been working on for the past year. They're attempting the most difficult bit of mage-work there is: revival of a guilty soul. Animals like Gorbeau are easy, and innocent human souls are a bit of a piece, but they’re not impossible. However, raising someone with a dark heart is so rare that Jehan has found few accounts of it, even in older texts.

That's partially why they're so invested in doing it. They suspect that it's not as difficult as the literature makes it seem, but that those in power have always wanted to discourage it. After all, it can't be completely safe to have former criminals running about, newly resurrected and ready to trade the spirit's underworld for a very human one. Jehan doesn't care about that, though-- they have a spell prepared to send the resurrected soul back if it proves to be too much trouble. This, more than anything, is an exercise in scientific curiosity.

None of the others would understand, though. Jehan has kept quiet for a whole year, not telling anyone but Gorbeau what they're working on. Perhaps, Combeferre would be interested, at least in part, but the squeamish part of em would definitely flinch away from the pragmatic aspect of the operation. Ey had even questioned raising Gorbeau, for goodness' sakes, so there would be no way ey would ever approve of this grand-scale project. Jehan isn't sure how they'll explain to their friends what happened after they succeed (because they're sure they _will_ succeed), but they suppose they can pull it off. Maybe they'll appeal to Enjolras's humanity, and he'll be so busy trying to welcome the risen soul that everyone will forget about scolding Jehan. 

Well, be that as it may. Jehan will deal with it all when the time comes.

They complete their circle, and draw the ingredients into it, connected with black chalk. White is standard for light magic, but necromancy is anything but that. They carefully light their dragon's blood candle, setting it in the middle of the ingredients, and take a healthy step back, ready to engage.

"Let's start," they say.

\--

It's midnight by the time Jehan is ready to finish the entire spell. The final sub-spells had taken longer than they'd thought, and even with breaks only to eat, they'd barely managed to finish things within their usual quick time limits. Then, too, it had taken a few hours just to set everything up, putting all the pieces together for the main event. Everything has to be positioned just so, and it had taken what felt like forever. However, things are ready now, and all the preparation is done. The project of an entire year is ready to come to fruition, and it's surprisingly easy. All Jehan has to do is say one word.

This is what they've been waiting for, they think. It's all been so difficult, the false starts, the mistakes, the burnt eyebrows that one time-- it's been a journey indeed. It seems almost anticlimactic to finish it so easily now.

That's the nature of magic, though. It's tricky. Volatile. Sometimes, the most complicated buildup has the simplest culmination. Jehan takes a deep breath, preparing themself for what's to come. Nearby, Gorbeau flutters nervously, sensing in his animal way that something very serious is about to happen. Both their lives are about to be changed, one way or another. 

Jehan breathes out. The dragon's-blood candle flickers, maybe in readiness for the great amount of magic that's about to course through the room. It's time. Jehan breathes in again.

"Live."

The word echoes sonorously around the darkened workshop, worming its way into every crack and crevice, crawling along the walls, clinging to the roof. It builds and builds in power and pressure until Jehan feels their chest almost bursting with it, stirring up a cloud of magic so thick and ancient that they can barely breathe. This is the oldest, darkest, most raw form of magic there is, forces so primal they can barely be contained, even by what are possibly the most powerful spells known to humankind. Jehan thinks it's about to steal their breath away, take their life for the one they're about to raise.

Just when they think they're about to give out, though, the pressure begins to clear. They open their eyes at the first rush of pure air, almost too afraid to see what they’ve done, but too overwhelmingly afraid not to. And then, they're glad they did, because lying on the worn wood floor, is a human figure.

Immediately, Jehan rushes to its side. This is their work, and they're anxious to see how well it held up through resurrection. "Excuse me," they say. The figure sits up, and suddenly, Jehan is breathless.

The man they've resurrected is familiar, yes-- his name is Montparnasse, and he's an infamous murderer and gang member who was killed in a standoff about five years ago. But that's not what has them so shocked. No, they're stuck in place staring because this man, this resurrected guilty soul is _beautiful_. He has black hair and cherry-colored lips, a perfect contrast to his smooth marble skin; his bone structure is finely modeled as if carved from the finest gemstone; his gorgeous dark eyes are wide and limpid and framed with long, graceful lashes. In fact, he looks almost like an inverted Enjolras-- fair skin instead of dark, black hair instead of golden; just as ethereally lovely. Jehan reaches out a wondering hand to touch that perfect cheek.

"Welcome back to life," they murmur.

Montparnasse frowns, obviously confused. "Where am I?"

"In the workshop of the Musain, home of Les Amis de l'ABC. I've just brought you back from the dead."

If anything, this just makes Montparnasse frown more. He furrows a quizzical brow. "How long have I been dead?"

"Five years."

"Five years..." Montparnasse suddenly pulls away from Jehan's touch as if it burns him. Jehan tries to pretend they're not wounded by this. "What are you doing? Why did you resurrect me? What are you- what are you planning to do?"

"I chose you at random," Jehan says, because they had, had paged through death reports and obituaries and had pulled out the first likely-looking candidate they'd seen. "I just wanted a guilty soul, any guilty soul. And as to why? That's easy. I just wanted to see if I could."

Montparnasse jerks backwards even further. He looks... hurt. Jehan cocks their head.

"What's the matter?"

"So you pulled me away from the afterlife, back to a horrible, miserable, lonely world, and not for any real reason? I'm your experiment, that's all?"

"Yes," Jehan says, knowing how cold it sounds, but unwilling to lie. Montparnasse shudders. 

"I can't-- please go."

"What?"

"Leave. Please."

Of all reactions, Jehan hadn't expected this. They had been expecting gratitude, maybe a little anger at the fact that he'd been dead at all, but not this. It's almost irritating.

"Fine," they snap, getting to their feet. "Spend the night here, then. I'll leave."

Montparnasse doesn't say anything. Jehan almost wishes he would, or even get up as well, but he stays right where he is, kneeling on the floor and looking stiff-shocked and despondent. There's nothing Jehan can do with this, so they flounce out the door, only barely refraining from slamming it.

They've gotten what they wanted, and proved that they're a real necromancer, a real force in this world. They've succeeded beyond the shadow of a doubt.

So why do they feel so unsettled?

\--

The next morning, still feeling vaguely ill at ease, Jehan goes to seek out Cosette. She's busy helping Combeferre translate a spell into Parole, but she smiles when Jehan comes in, and waves them over.

"Good morning! How did you sleep?"

"Not well," Jehan tells her honestly. "Listen, can I talk to you?"

"Of course." Cosette shoots them a slightly puzzled look. "Jehan, is everything all right?"

"Not really. Can you..."

Combeferre coughs tactfully. "I think I'll go visit Enjolras. I'll see you later, you two."

Ey slips out, and Jehan, relieved and grateful, sinks into eir abandoned chair. "I raised a guilty soul," they say without preamble, because if they wait too long to say it, they never will. Cosette's hands fly up to cover her mouth.

"What?"

"I did. It's what I've been working on all of this past year. I didn't want to tell anyone, because I knew you wouldn't like it, but now I've done it, and I don't know what to do."

Cosette takes a long breath. "All right. So you raised a guilty soul. Um-- what's the problem? Are they angry?"

"Yes, but at _me_." Jehan pulls a hand through their hair, ridiculously thinking of how infrequently they brush it. "Why should he be angry at me? I did him a good turn. I _raised_ him."

"Did he want to be raised?"

"Who cares? Isn't being alive better than being dead?"

"I wouldn't know." Cosette gently takes Jehan's hand and turns it over to hold it between her palms. She always radiates positive energy with her friends unless she's really upset, and just being in contact with her is calming. "Listen," she says, still in that soft, sweet tone. "The soul you raised-- who was it? Anyone I know?"

"Montparnasse. That criminal.“

“From five years ago?”

"Yes. I picked him at random."

"Maybe..." Cosette stops, obviously thinking hard about her next words. "Maybe he wouldn't want to come back to life."

"But that's ridiculous! Who wouldn't want to come back to life?" Even as they say it, though, Jehan remembers the look on Montparnasse's face, and the way he'd described the world as horrible, miserable, and lonely. "I suppose I might not know," they admit.

Cosette nods. "I think you should apologize."

Immediately, Jehan stiffens up, jerking their hand away from Cosette's. They can barely believe this. "Excuse me? _I_ should apologize?"

"I think so. After all, you did bring him back to what's probably a sad, desolate life. And bear in mind, too, that he's been dead for five years. Everything he's known might be gone."

Jehan sits, teeth clenched, trying to keep their composure. They have to admit, Cosette has a point, but they hate the thought of scraping their knees for this guilty soul, this _criminal_ that they've raised. It doesn't seem right. 

"Fine," they say after a long pause, during which Cosette is watching them with gentle, disappointed eyes. "I'll apologize to him. Are you happy?"

"Yes." Cosette really does look happy. She stands up, smoothing down the flounces of her dress, and holds out her hand. "Come on, let's go. I'll wait outside."

"Right now?"

"Yes, now. The poor man has been alone and confused all night; it would be only right to go to him."

"Fine."

Jehan is sulkily quiet as Cosette leads them to the workshop. They know they're behaving badly, but they don't feel as if they can help it. This was supposed to be their master project, the best part of their career thus far, and now it seems like everything is going wrong. They want to be happy-- _deserve_ to be happy, in fact. So why should they have to humiliate themself just to save the feelings of some damned soul?

By the time they get to the workshop, they've composed themself a little. So maybe they feel they shouldn't have to do this, and maybe they're right. But Cosette has a point, too; Montparnasse was pulled from the grave into life, and then neglected for eight hours. Who knows what he might be thinking now? Certainly, someone owes him at least an explanation.

Cosette knocks on the door to the workshop, more courtesy than Jehan would have thought to show, and when there's no answering call from inside, she pushes it open. 

"Go in," she hisses. "I'll be waiting out here. Be kind; he's a person, too."

That's the crux of the matter, isn't it? Jehan doesn't know if they _can_ think of Montparnasse as a real person. He's not their creation, but his existence on Earth is thanks to them, and that makes him something close. He's a guilty soul, that's all, and it's well-nigh impossible to see him as anything but.

Still, they have a duty to do what’s right, so they enter the room softly and carefully, as if trying not to scare a wild animal.

"Hello?" they say, and then a little louder, "Montparnasse?"

"Right here."

Montparnasse is right where Jehan left him. He's still kneeling in the middle of the floor, hair still flopping over his face, eyes still dark and haunted. Jehan feels an inexplicable pang go through their heart.

"I, um, I'm sorry I left you," they say.

Montparnasse raises his tortured eyes to meet theirs. "It's fine. Why wouldn't you? I'm a monster-- and not just because I'm some undead abomination now."

"You, ah.” Jehan has no idea what to say. Why didn't they make Cosette come in with them? "It's not your fault," they finally manage.

Montparnasse laughs, and it would be nasty if it weren't so sad. "Yeah, sure. All the things I did when I was alive-- the first time, I mean-- those weren't my fault?"

"I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances," Jehan says. Their voice sounds hollow even to themself, and Montparnasse scoffs.

"There weren't."

"Society--"

"Sure, sure. Society turned me a rotting one. But that's not it. You know why I killed people? Not because I needed money or anything. No, I did it to buy clothes. I wanted to be handsome."

"You _are_ handsome." _Inappropriate, Jehan_. "I mean-- I'm sorry."

" _You're_ sorry? Please. You have nothing to be sorry for. You brought me back so I could atone for my sins, right?"

"No, I really didn't." 

"Don't lie to me. Why else would you resurrect a soul like mine?"

"I told you. I wanted to see if I could."

"I don't believe it." Now Montparnasse looks distressed, and Jehan has no idea why. He's not supposed to be this way; he's supposed to be unrepentant, unlikeable. This persona he's putting on, though, it's too strange. Jehan shakes their head.

"I honestly did. You're the product of an experiment, nothing more."

"But you..." Montparnasse does move now, shifting to sit closer to Jehan. He still hasn't gotten up, but his posture is more open now, more appealing. Jehan stifles the urge to take a step back.

"What?"

"You're not like me."

Obviously. "Where's that coming from?"

"You... you're not _evil_. You don't have a bad heart, I can tell. So why would you do something so... cold? You don't seem like the type of person to take any soul for granted."

"But you're a guilty soul."

Montparnasse moves back again, all the ground he's covered lost. His face shows an inexpressible look of hurt and disappointment. "So that's it? I'm a guilty soul, so I’m not equal to you?"

Jehan feels as if they may have done something wrong somewhere, though they have no idea where. They put their hands up, a placating gesture. "I don't think we're that unequal."

"Don't lie to me." Anger radiates out of Montparnasse's very posture. Suddenly, Jehan is very, very afraid. 

"I'm not."

Montparnasse stands, so suddenly that Jehan really does take a step back now, not wanting to be caught up in the fire of those eyes, burning like twin pieces of coal. He pushes past them without a word, and slams open the door.

"I don't even want to look at you."

Jehan can't even think of a reply before he's gone.

\--

Jehan doesn't see Montparnasse for two days. They're beginning to give up hope of ever seeing him again, and are preparing themself for a report on the new influx of crime in the city, but finally, Enjolras calls them for a meeting with the entire house. He doesn't look happy, and his voice is uncharacteristically flat, lacking all of its usual passion and energy.

"Jehan, we have something to discuss with you."

Jehan already knows what it is, but they decide to ask anyway, just for the delaying time. "What is it?"

Enjolras looks torn between wanting to discuss it with everyone and blurting it out all at once. Finally, impatience wins. "You raised Montparnasse?"

"I wanted to see if I could."

"He's a _person_ , Jehan! A real human person! He's not some kind of experiment. Did you ever think of that?"

"He's a guilty soul."

"But a soul nonetheless!"

It's pointless arguing with him. He'll never understand. Jehan shakes their head and gestures to the door, ready to get this meeting over with. Maybe one of the others will be more sympathetic.

Enjolras is grouchy and silent all the way to the common room. He doesn't say anything except to warn Jehan about the after-effects of one of Grantaire's spells taking over the hallway and making anyone who steps into it temporarily lose their memory. Jehan rather thinks this would be useful for this meeting, just so they could have some measure of plausible deniability, but Enjolras leads them away from it before they can get close. After this, he drops their arm and doesn't touch them again (rare for him-- he's one of the most tactile of their friends, at least with people he trusts). He must really be upset.

Everyone is assembled in the common room when Enjolras and Jehan come in, including, Jehan is sorry to see, Montparnasse, perching on a cushion next to Enjolras's red feather-stuffed pillow and looking as relaxed as anything. He waves sardonically when Jehan catches his eye.

"Good to see you again, little necromancer."

Jehan doesn't dignify that with a reply. They toss their head and sink down next to Cosette, the person who's most likely to still be friendly to them now.

"I know why we're all here," they say, just to get things started without too much preamble. Enjolras, ever the leader, nods and takes over.

"Yes, Jehan. We're not upset with you--" (that's a lie; almost everyone looks upset)  "--but we did want to talk about this. You, ah, you raised Montparnasse here."

"Without my consent, may I add," puts in Montparnasse. Jehan glares at him. 

"How was I supposed to ask your consent? You were dead."

"So maybe you shouldn't have raised me at all."

"Why did you do this?" Enjolras asks. "Did you really just want to see if you could?"

“So and so.”

“It was just an experiment for you?"

"Well, yes. Raising a guilty soul is one of the most difficult conjures anyone can do, and I wanted to see if I was capable of it. Which I am, by the way, thank you for noticing."

"Oh, believe me, we noticed." Enjolras's tone is dry. "I guess what we're all wondering is, why didn't you tell us about this?"

"Well, I..."

"You knew we wouldn't like it," drawls Grantaire, who's lounging on the cushion on the other side of Enjolras and looking significantly less bothered than everyone else. He raises a neatly peeled grape to his mouth and pops it in. "Did you really think you could keep this a secret, though?"

"I thought you'd eventually see it from my perspective,” falters Jehan. In fact, they hadn't really been concerned with this part. They'd been prepared to use their spell to send Montparnasse back, but aside from that, the aftermath of their raising hadn't much occurred to them. Optimistically, they'd been assuming it would all work out. 

"Why did you think we would disapprove?" asks Combeferre in eir most didactic voice. Jehan has to fight the urge to roll their eyes at eir professorial manner.

"Well, you know. Guilty soul and all. That's pretty dangerous."

"You didn't think we'd be concerned with the ethics of the operation on his end?"

That's the worst part about Combeferre: ey always sees everything, even the things that Jehan doesn't want to admit to themself or others. They sigh, giving in under eir steady, patient, bespectacled gaze.

"Yes, that was part of it, too. I knew you'd be concerned about his _humanity_ , and _violations of his personhood_ and _autonomy_."

"And you weren't?"

"I mean..."

“And so you see,” says Montparnasse loudly. "Obviously, they don't even think of me as a person. I'm just a _science project_ to them."

Jehan lowers their head. The sooner they get this over with, the better. "I'm sorry."

Obviously, this catches Montparnasse off-guard. He fumbles with his words a little, finally ending up with a half-lost _what_. Jehan looks up now, and stares him right in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"But you--"

"I mean it." They do, mostly, but they're not entirely happy about it. But Montparnasse doesn't have to know that. "I'm sorry that I raised you without your consent. And I'm sorry that I pickered myself and left you alone the other night."

They're not going to apologize for not thinking of him as a person, because they still aren't sure that they do, no matter how human he's acting now. But this seems to be enough; he doesn't smile, but his face loses its haunted look, and his expression turns much more open. 

"Thank you."

That's it? He's just going to accept it? If Jehan were in his place, they never would, not until they got a thorough, floor-scraping, gut-wrenching apology (so, maybe they have a few issues with vengefulness, but that's not what's important here). They cough, caught off guard.

"Well, I'm glad you accept it."

Now Montparnasse really does smile. It's beautiful, spreading over his face like ivy, maybe a bit hesitant, but so brilliant and gorgeous that it leaves Jehan feeling somewhat lost. They can see a glimpse of the charming boy that he must have been before crime took over his life.

"Friends?" he says. 

A little hesitantly, Jehan approaches him, hand held outstretched. "Friends."

When Montparnasse takes their hand, touching them for the first time, they can practically feel a burst between them, a little shot of magic in the air, changing everything, and leaving them both all the better for it. It feels healing; purifying. Jehan can't help but smile.

"I'm glad we can start again.”

Montparnasse squeezes their hand once before letting go. "Me too."

Jehan goes back to their seat, feeling inexplicably better. They don't care about Montparnasse beyond what he proves about their conjuring abilities, they _don't_ \-- but for some reason, it's nice to be on good terms with him now. In fact, they feel a fizz of excitement bubbling away in their chest. If Montparnasse proves them wrong, shows that he really is a person and more than just a guilty soul, they think, they would take that happily. Somehow, the future seems more exciting now than it did half an hour ago.

As if noting the change in mood, Enjolras claps his hands together, delighted. "Isn't this wonderful? I'm so glad you're going to be friends now!"

Enjolras puts a lot of import in friendship, and is one of the most adorably loving people Jehan has ever met. He's a little too optimistic at times, but they have to admit it's nice, even if they're not exactly sure they can live up to his rosy expectations. Being friends with a guilty soul-- what a concept! Still, they suppose it wouldn't hurt to try. 

"I'm glad, too," they say.

Combeferre coughs. Ey doesn't look as happy as Enjolras does, or in fact, at all. Doubt is seeping out of every pore, clouding eir whole face and making em frown. 

"Are you sure you'll both be all right?"

"As long as Jehan doesn't hand me over to the authorities," says Montparnasse, obviously joking, but Jehan sees some of their friends stiffen. Were they really thinking they would do that? How awful. They smile, exaggeratedly slowly.

"Of course I wouldn't do that. You're one of us now."

"Ah, so." Enjolras coughs awkwardly, then, as if that wasn't enough, clears his throat. "I hope you don't mind, but that was one of the other things we wanted to talk about."

"What was?"

"Well, what Montparnasse is going to do. I want him to stay here, if that's what he wants, too."

Everyone looks at Montparnasse, including Jehan. He shrugs languidly. "I don't really care. My only request is that you don't turn me in."

"Would you like to stay with us?"

"Sure," says Montparnasse, at the same time as Combeferre holds up eir hand. 

"Now don’t cast your charms too fast, Enjolras."

Enjolras looks between them, then at Jehan. "What?"

"Well, does Montparnasse even want that, or are you pressuring him? And if he does, how will that work? Will he stay in hiding all the time?"

"Why should he stay in hiding?"

"I mean... he's a criminal."

"So? Criminals have rights, too! If he's not actively breaking the law, don't you think he should be granted every protection under it? He shouldn't have to hide away like a guilty man when he hasn't even done anything wrong for five years."

"Because he was dead."

"Well--"

"I can argue for myself," says Montparnasse, sounding amused. "Although, I really do appreciate your passion, pretty boy. It's good to have you in front of me.”

Grantaire glowers at him, unsure as to whether or not he's flirting, but obviously annoyed nonetheless. Enjolras, not noticing, beams at him.

“Of course!”

"I _would_ like staying with you all, I think," says Montparnasse. "These past two days have been happier than my whole life-- ah, the first one, I mean. But I don't want to do that if you're not amenable. I'm not the type of person to force myself where I'm not wanted."

 _Except when you're murdering people_ , Jehan thinks, but they don't say it out loud. They have the feeling that would be a little rude. "What do you all think?" they ask instead.

"Shall we take a vote?" Enjolras suggests. Democracy has always been his go-to method for settling disputes. Everyone murmurs in agreement, so he nods. "All right. Everyone in favor of Montparnasse staying, raise your hands?"

Everyone raises their hand, even Jehan, although they're not sure how they feel about it. Enjolras, looking positively radiant, makes a discreet victory fist. 

"So we're all agreed?"

"We're agreed," says Jehan. Montparnasse makes a half-bow from his seat.

"I'm obliged to you all, and especially to you, Enjolras. I'll do my best not to disappoint."

"You won't," says Enjolras immediately. Montparnasse shoots him a sultry look. 

"Thank you, sweet thing."

Jehan isn't so sure what they think about any of this, but there's nothing they can do, so they smile and nod, as polite as they can be. One thing is sure, this is going to change their life forever. Unfortunately, they don't know if they're ready for that. 

\--

Montparnasse comes into the workshop the next day. He's wearing an outfit that Jehan recognizes as belonging to Enjolras, and it's too small. Jehan absolutely does _not_ stare at the way the buttons strain across his surprisingly muscular chest. 

"Hello," they say. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit you, of course." Montparnasse's grin shows sharp, white teeth. "Is that all right?"

Jehan nods curtly. "Just stay out of my way."

"I can do that."

Jehan is working on a counter-spell to ensure that Montparnasse doesn't go out and start murdering people. Essentially, if all goes well, it will tie him to the house, physically blocking him from going beyond a pre-set radius. It's not perfect, because of course he can still attack anyone inside the house, but it's a start. They take a pinch of wolfsbane from the jar-- _let the wild stay away_ \-- and add it to their mortar on the counter.

"I meant it, though," they say conversationally as they go hunting for Cosette's old heart-shaped pendant that she kindly donated to the workshop. "I'm sure there's other places more interesting than here. So why?"

"I thought I might," says Montparnasse cryptically. Instead of elaborating more, he comes around to the counter and peers into the mortar. "What's this?"

"I told you not to get in my way," Jehan says somewhat snappishly. Montparnasse ignores them.

"What's this, a spell? And in Parole, even. _Let the wild stay away, with heart that's full of love, turn the night back into day, keep hand inside its glove_. Hmm...? I didn't know spells came in trochees?”

"It's my own translation." Jehan snatches the paper back from Montparnasse, feeling unreasonably defensive. Why should they care if he doesn't like it, or thinks it's silly? It's their own spell, and he really has no business being here anyway. "Besides, it's not meant for anyone else. Just me."

"What is it?"

No way is Jehan going to tell him that. They purse their lips primly. "It's a secret."

"A secret?" Montparnasse's lips quirk up. "You're a prickle, aren't you? Prickly little necromancer."

"Stop making fun of me."

"Oh, but I'm not. I quite admire, you really. You pulled me straight out of the afterlife, back to earth. That takes power."

Finally, some sort of acknowledgement. Jehan tries hard not to preen, flattered. "I'm glad you think so."

"I _definitely_ do. And I'd be interested to see what else you're capable of."

Jehan's mouth feels dry. They have no idea what to say, or even if they should say anything at all. Montparnasse feels too smooth, like the sharp edge of a knife. They can't help feeling that they're going to get cut if they stay here too long with him.

So, they turn away abruptly, putting distance between them and him. "I need to find Cosette's necklace," they say.

"Cosette. She's the pretty girl, isn't she?" Montparnasse' voice is thoughtful. "I like her. She gave me a pastry this morning."

"Yes, she does that." Jehan pokes their head into yet another box, coming up only with some old cleaning wipes, a face mask, and a wooden flute. So _that's_ where that went. "I have to tell Joly to stop taking my things,” they mutter. 

"Joly?"

"The one with glasses-- the smaller one, I mean."

"What're they like?"

Jehan straightens up. "Why do you care?"

“I'm going to be living with all of you. Don't you think I should know who you are?"

A slight unease washes through Jehan's stomach. Maybe they've been thoughtless. How would it be for them, if they were brought back into a world they hadn't seen in five years, and deposited into a house full of rowdy strangers? Surely it would be unsettling. Montparnasse is doing very well, considering, but they probably do owe him an explanation.

"Joly is one of the most hilarious people in the world," they say. "You should go to him when you need to find your cheer, because he always has a joke at the ready. He's also our best healer, so if you need that, he'll take care of you right away."

“I’ll remember that.” Montparnasse thinks for a second, and then, "What about Enjolras?"

"What about him?"

"Can you tell me about him?"

For some reason, Jehan's throat feels sour. They try not to make a face. "He's perfect. Gorgeous, sweet, smart, talented, wonderful leader... you know, everything anyone could want.”

Montparnasse laughs. "What, are you jealous of him?"

"Of course not," Jehan says too quickly, thinking of the way Montparnasse's eyes had lingered on him the day before, and the intonation of his voice as he'd called him _sweet thing_. "He's my friend, and I love him. He's just... intimidating, that's all."

"I can see that." Montparnasse bites the corner of his full, red lip. "I like a challenge."

"Oh?"

"Sure. That's half the fun."

Jehan turns back to the box so quickly that it's almost purposeful. They don't know what to say, so they don't say anything, knowing that if they speak, Montparnasse is just going to make it into some paean to _Enjolras_. 

They don’t care anyway, though. It's not like they own Montparnasse. Though, now that they think about it, they are the one who raised him, so it wouldn’t be exactly _wrong_ to say that they have some claim over him. If he's going to be showing interest in anyone, shouldn't it be _them_ , and not their house leader, no matter how sweet his freckles are, or how pretty his hair looks in the sunlight?

It's strange. At first, Jehan hadn't known if Montparnasse would be able to think for himself. They had thought of him as a guilty soul, nothing more, capable of nothing but mindless destruction and vandalism, a machine, a will-less entity, something less than human. But now they're starting to see that he's capable of free thought after all, even if it's turned in a rather unpleasing direction. Does that mean he's human after all? It's an interesting question, and one that they can't claim to know the answer to.

"Why don't you go talk to him?" they want to know. Montparnasse laughs.

"Oh, I will. I estimate that he'll arrive here in about five minutes."

"What? How could you possibly know that?"

"I have my ways."

Jehan goes back to looking through the detritus of the workshop with a soft huff, ignoring Montparnasse once again. Still, they don't even pretend to be surprised when approximately seven minutes later, the door opens, and Enjolras comes in.

"Hello," he says. "Have you seen my spell notebook?"

Montparnasse raises a sly eyebrow at Jehan and raises a finger to his lips. They have to turn away quickly so they don't choke with laughter. Who would have thought this guilty soul would be _mischievous_?

"No, Enjolras, I haven't seen it."

"Hmm. I wonder where it could be." Enjolras looks around the workshop, as if hoping that it will somehow materialize, but seeing nothing, turns to leave again. "Well, I'm sorry for bothering you. I guess I'll do a locator spell."

"Why wasn't that your first order of operations?" Montparnasse asks, obviously amused. Enjolras looks at him very seriously.

"I don't believe that magic should be used as a first resort. Even in harmless situations like this, it's too easy to become dependent upon it as a means of acquiring whatever we want. I try to think about it, and exhaust all other options before doing something even as minor as a locator spell, just to remind myself that magic is not the only thing that matters in this world."

"You're such an ascetic," Jehan mutters. Enjolras turns warm amber eyes on them, curious.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, nothing."

Montparnasse comes over to Enjolras now, and gets close up in his personal space. He's catlike, graceful, and Jehan can hardly bear it. "Hey," he says.

Enjolras looks startled, but he doesn't move away. "Hey."

Montparnasse pulls Enjolras's little notebook out of the pocket of his coat and slides it up against his chest. "Are you looking for this?"

"I-- what?" 

"I found your notebook."

"Where? How?"

"Aww, have I got you flustered?" Montparnasse traces a slender finger across Enjolras's cheek, laughing when he shudders and leans into the touch, seemingly without realizing what he's doing. "Don't worry, sweet thing. I picked it up off the floor. I wouldn't steal from you."

"That's good," Enjolras manages to get out. Then, he grabs the notebook and flees the room, barely remembering to close the door on the way out. Jehan crosses their arms against their body.

"Did you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

“Play with him."

"Who said I was playing with him?" Montparnasse smirks, a cat who's caught his prey. "He's a pretty little thing. And so passionate. I like him."

"He's not just a pretty face," snaps Jehan. They don't even know if they're defending Enjolras or themself at this point, though what they would be defending themself against, they have no idea. Montparnasse's smirk only widens.

"Really? Then I'd like to see the rest of him, too."

Jehan doesn't have to take this. They literally don't. They slam their book shut on the table and storm out of the room, kicking the door shut with a bang as they go. 

Why is it so intolerable to watch Montparnasse flirt with Enjolras, they wonder as they storm down the hall to their room. It's not like they want either of them for themself. Enjolras is their friend, nothing else, and Montparnasse is... well. Montparnasse is _Montparnasse_. 

Still, though, they're irritated, and they spend the rest of the day hiding in their blankets and thinking of creative insults to use on Montparnasse next time he starts getting too handsy with Enjolras. It's rather therapeutic, and they can feel their mood improving with each vituperation.

By the time dinner rolls around, they're feeling better, so they decide to leave their room and go out to eat with the others. Feuilly did the cooking tonight, so it ought to be good. They stroll into the dining room, ready for a good meal, only to see Montparnasse leaning against the table and holding Enjolras around the waist. 

"Tell me more," he's saying.

Enjolras doesn't get a chance to tell him more about _whatever-it-is_ , because Jehan, having had enough, walks up to them and yanks Enjolras away.

"I'm borrowing him," they say through gritted teeth. Montparnasse raises peaceable hands.

"All yours."

"I'm not anybody's," Enjolras complains, but stops when he sees Jehan's face. “Jehan, are you all right?”

Jehan doesn't know how to explain what they're feeling, especially in a room full of their curious friends, some of whom are looking at them now (including Grantaire, who's glaring at Montparnasse like he wants to fight him). Jehan starts to tow Enjolras out of the room.

"Can I talk to you?"

They don't wait for an answer, and only slow down once they've gotten to the living room, away from prying eyes. There, they sit down on the couch, drawing Enjolras with them. Enjolras looks at them, apprehensive.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you like Montparnasse?" Jehan blurts, then wants to slap themself, because really, there were probably fifty other ways they could have done that. Enjolras frowns.

"Of course. I know I just met him, but he seems like a decent person. I'm sure he'll get along with us really well."

"I didn't mean that," Jehan attempts to explain. "Do you like him... like _that_?"

For all his chastity, Enjolras isn't naive, and he doesn't pretend to be. He twists a lock of hair around his finger, thinking. 

"I don't know if it matters in any case. He was just flirting."

"Yes, but only with you, didn't you notice that?"

"Sure, but it doesn't have to mean anything."

 _You don't know that_ , Jehan wants to say. Instead, they settle for scowling darkly at the floor. They haven't felt this way for a long time, not since they were so in love with Courfeyrac two years ago, and Combeferre swooped in and--

What.

Jehan sits up straighter, scowl forgotten in their realization. They're _jealous_. Jealous of Montparnasse and Enjolras, jealous like a neglected lover. It's ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," they choke out. Enjolras looks mildly concerned.

"What for?"

"I was jealous of you."

"Was?"

"Still am, I guess."

"You like Montparnasse?"

Now, that's a tricky question. Jehan doesn't know if they like Montparnasse or not-- they haven't known him long enough for that. It would be impossible to truly like someone they just met, after all. No, they're confused by him, perplexed by his strange version of humanity, and they want to find out more. But, they want to be the only one to find out more.

That's unhealthy, they realize. Possessiveness isn't good for either of them, and neither is this toxic sort of jealousy they're feeling, not healthy jealousy that can be taken as it is, but more twisted, more insidious. They want Montparnasse all to themself, even if they don't necessarily like him, and that's not how things should be. 

"You should sleep with him," they blurt out. Enjolras starts and blushes. 

"Why?"

"Because he likes you. And you like him well enough, I can tell."

"But I don't know. I don't do that very much. I might have forgotten how."

"You don't forget how to do that," says Jehan. "Go, take the night with him. Have fun." 

Enjolras looks pensive, and like he's really considering the idea. Something turns in Jehan's stomach, and they stand and quickly leave the room before he can come to a decision and they have to see it. They're doing the right thing, they tell themself, letting Montparnasse go before they become too intertwined with him. It's the right thing, and it's a decision to be proud of.

Still, that night, when they hear Enjolras's whimpers and breathless moans and Montparnasse's silky voice praising him to his climax, they aren't sure they can bear it without losing their mind. They take a blanket and head to the workshop, away from the bedrooms, unwilling to hear anything more.

They're doing the right thing, they are. But it doesn't have to feel good. 

\--

In the days that follow, Jehan expects to see some change, maybe Enjolras and Montparnasse walking around hand-in-hand, or kissing in the corners of the hallway. But as far as they can tell, and they look very thoroughly, Enjolras and Montparnasse remain friends, nothing else. They chat comfortably, and they exchange friendly touches, but there's none of the romantic intimacy Jehan expected to see after their steamy night together.

It's puzzling. They wish they knew how to explain it, but no matter how hard they look, it remains a complete mystery.

They're standing outside the living room, watching Enjolras talk magic rights at Montparnasse, comfortably nestled under his arm. Montparnasse is listening avidly, though there's a little crooked smile on his face, betraying his incomplete belief in what Enjolras is saying. They look like any two close friends, but Jehan can't stop watching, or at least not until they feel a hand on their elbow.

"Aren't you a little voyeur?”

They whirl around, only to smile when they see their addressee, grinning back at them with a cheeky look.

"Grantaire."

"Are you watching them?" Grantaire nods at the pair on the couch, melancholy clouding his eyes even past the smile still fixed on his face. "They look just a treat together, don't they?"

"They do," Jehan agrees sourly. "You know, I thought they would be more affectionate now, but they're not. It's almost annoying, after the trouble I went to to get them together."

"They're together?" Grantaire's voice is carefully neutral, brittle, like he's afraid he'll crack if he doesn't stay as calm as possible. Jehan shakes their head.

"I don't think so. I mean, they did a little tumble together a few nights ago, but--"

" _What_?"

"Oh? You didn't know?"

"No." A vein pops out on Grantaire's forehead. He's obviously clenching his teeth, hard. "Was it consensual?"

"Of course."

Grantaire groans, loud enough that Enjolras pauses in his diatribe and looks around. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Montparnasse assures him. "Keep going. You were talking about magic being a form of privilege?"

"I should have known," Grantaire says, as Enjolras happily continues on. "I should have known he wouldn't stay available forever."

"I'm telling you, though--"

"No, but they like each other, I can tell. And they did _that_. Enjolras doesn't do that with anyone."

"Sure, but he wouldn't have if I hadn't told him to."

"You _told_ him to?"

Jehan has the feeling that they've made a very big mistake. They scratch the back of their head sheepishly. "Ah, well... yes?"

" _Why_?"

Jehan sighs. "Can I tell you something?"

"I guess so."

"I was jealous." They wait for Grantaire to say something understanding, connect the lines of the map, but he doesn't, merely stands still, glaring from under his bushy eyebrows. 

"What?"

"I was jealous. Montparnasse was flirting with Enjolras, and I _hated_ it. I think I was feeling really possessive over Montparnasse, even though I'm not even sure if I like him or not, and I was feeling all toxic and nasty. So I thought I should let them go and do whatever they had to do to get the sexual tension out of their system. It was the right thing to do."

"All right," says Grantaire slowly. "So you were jealous, and you decided to urge them to put their legs together to get it out of their system. But then what? Were you doing it out of philanthropy? Or were you hoping Montparnasse would come back to you after that?"

Jehan's stomach twists. Is that really it? Are they really that selfish, even when they're trying not to be? They brace their hand against the wall, trying to hold off the wave of nausea that courses through them, because of course that's it. They just wanted Montparnasse to get over his craving for Enjolras, and then come back to them, ready to be theirs and theirs only. It's awful.

"I'm sorry," they choke out. Grantaire looks alarmed.

"What's going on with you?"

"You're right. It was just selfishness."

Grantaire puts an arm around them. "Listen, don't give yourself the rot over this. You're a good person, and the fact that you're concerned about this proves it. A bad person wouldn't care if they were being selfish, right?"

"Yeah, sure. But a good person wouldn't be selfish in the first place. _Enjolras_ would never be selfish."

"He might be an angel, but he still experiences human feelings, you know."

"But he would never act on it. I wish I was more like him."

"No, you don't. You're _you_ , Jehan Prouvaire, and you're more amazing than you give yourself credit for. I wouldn't want you to be anyone else, and neither would any of the others. Not me, not Enjolras, and definitely not Montparnasse. We all like you just the way you are."

"Really?"

"I promise."

Jehan feels warm, all the way down to their toes. Grantaire really has a way with words when he's not being sarcastic or cynical (which, granted, happens seldom), and they can't help feeling better, even through their angst. 

"Thank you," they say.

Grantaire nudges them in the shoulder. "Come on, let's stop watching them for awhile. Wanna go visit Musichetta's lizards?"

Jehan doesn't really want to, but they feel like it would be better than staying here and brooding. It would be the right thing-- they seem to be considering that a lot lately. They nudge Grantaire back and nod.

"Sure."

\--

Montparnasse comes into the workshop the next day. He's dressed in Enjolras's clothes again, and again, the outfit looks sinfully good on him. He leans against the counter where Jehan is working, almost-but-not-quite close enough to touch.

"Hey, little necromancer."

"Don't call me that," Jehan mumbles. Montparnasse chuckles.

"All right. What would you like me to call you instead?"

"I don't care."

"Really, you don't care? Then, may I call you Gingersnap? Poppyseed? Freckles?"

"Whatever you want."

"All right, Freckles." Montparnasse grins at them, then reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear, casual enough to be friendly, but not studied enough to be flirtatious. "Listen, I wanted to thank you for getting Enjolras to take the night with me."

Jehan stiffens. This again? "It's no problem," they say tersely. 

Montparnasse laughs. "Oh, don't be jealous. There's nothing like _that_ between us. Enjolras is terribly pretty, and _very_ good in bed, but that's not why I'm thanking you. No, I'm just happy because if we hadn't done that, we might not have ended up such good friends."

"You're just friends?"

"Of course. Heavens above, Freckles. Could you see us being together? It would be disastrous. We're too alike. No, he and I both need someone different."

Jehan doesn't want to know why their heart feels like it's floating. They nod, trying to pretend that this information isn't exciting. "I see."

"Enjolras should talk seriously with Grantaire," Montparnasse says musingly. "I can see the way they look at each other. They would be perfect. And you..."

Jehan is blushing underneath their freckles. They can feel it. "Yes?”

"I don't know. You tell me, what's your type?"

"I don't know," Jehan whispers. They couldn't say why they feel so shy right now (or maybe they could, but that's a soul-search they don't think they're ready for), and they don't really know what to say, so they turn back to the workbench, hiding their face behind a curtain of hair. "Hey, can you get the feverfew for me?"

Thankfully, Montparnasse takes the topic-change for what it is, and slouches away from the counter to look. "Sure. Where is it?"

"It should be in a labeled jar, probably on the back shelf with the other herbs."

"Back shelf? Ah." Montparnasse sweeps to the back of the room and starts looking through the jars on the shelf. "Let's see, let's see... here we are, yes. Feverfew for you." He takes the jar and sets it on the counter beside Jehan. "What else can I fetch for you?"

"A moonstone would be good,” says Jehan, without thinking about it too much. It feels surprisingly normal to interact with Montparnasse like this, letting him see the inside of their lab, letting him see the workings of their spell. Usually, they don't let anyone help, not even Combeferre, who's the most trustworthy of their friends, but it seems natural to work this way now. And it must feel natural to Montparnasse, too, because within a minute, he drops a moonstone down next to them.

"There you go, Freckles."

"Thanks."

"What are you making, anyway?"

There's no way Jehan is going to tell him the truth, that they're making a spell to keep him contained within the house so as not to terrorize the general populace. They grin brightly and lie.

"A sleep spell for Enjolras. He never gets enough rest."

"Oh, that sounds good," says Montparnasse. "How can I help?"

It's a little poetic and a little sad, Montparnasse helping to build the spell that will trap him. Jehan feels a stab of guilt, but squelches it down, reminding themself that this is for the good of the people. They can't have a murderer running free, after all. And they don't want to send him away yet, so they point towards the back of the room.

"Can you fetch me that set of fox's knucklebones?"

\--

As it turns out, it's amazingly helpful having an assistant. Jehan finishes their spell in only two days thanks to Montparnasse's enthusiastic help. It's true, he talks a lot, and he's a little too curious for his own good, but he really is useful, especially when it comes to running around the house and fetching missing items. 

It's not a perfect situation, though. In talking with Montparnasse and spending time with him these past two days, they've grown to see that he's not just a callous murderer, or a mechanistic guilty soul. He has a heart, and a soul, and a wicked sense of humor that leaves them doubled over laughing sometimes. He's capable of deep thought and introspection, and talking with him is like nothing else that Jehan has experienced before. They don't know how comfortable they're going to feel with themself once they trap him in the house.

"What do you want to do with your life?" they ask him, taking a break from spell-work (having finished the house-binding spell and not seeing much else to do besides chat). He frowns, elegant forehead creasing up.

"I'm not sure. But I know I don't want my life to be like it was."

"You don't?"

"No. I was stupid when I was alive the first time. I was selfish, lazy, depraved-- I didn't think of anyone but myself, and sometimes my friends. And I became a criminal, and I killed people so I could be _fashionable_ \-- who does that? I wasn't a good person back then. But I feel like I've been given a second chance to change that."

"You want to change?"

"Of course. I didn't do any good for the world when I was alive the first time, but now I can. It's time for me to reform. I know it sounds like a sailor’s line, but I really do think this is a new chance for me."

Jehan doesn't even know what to say. Their mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. They're too shocked with how serious and _sincere_ Montparnasse is acting now. It's like he's a completely different person than the man they read about in the news five years ago. Impossible as it seems, it really does appear that he wants to do better.

"That's a noble goal," they finally get out. Montparnasse shrugs.

"I don't think so. It's what any decent person would do, making up for the evil I've done in the past."

"But not everyone would do that."

"They should." Montparnasse laughs a little bit. "I think Enjolras's optimism is catching on me."

Jehan realizes they aren't jealous of Enjolras anymore. Only two days ago, Montparnasse's statement would have sent them into a pout, giving their stomach that unpleasant sort of sour feeling, and making them frown. But now they just laugh along with Montparnasse, blending their quiet chuckle with his pretty one.

"There are worse things than that."

"True." Montparnasse laughs again, though more self-consciously this time. "You know, I never thought you'd all take me in, let alone talk to me."

"Why not?"

"Well, look at me. I'm a criminal. I've killed people. And I'm undead-- isn't that kind of frightening?”

"I don't think that makes a difference to Enjolras," says Jehan. "I'm sure he wanted to give you a chance, so when you proved yourself to him, he accepted you wholeheartedly. And once everyone else saw that, you were practically one of us already. We all follow his example more often than I'd like to admit."

Montparnasse thinks about this. "Is he your leader?" 

"He's the house leader, yes."

"What does that mean?"

Sometimes, Jehan forgets that not everyone is knows the magic world like they do. Terminology that seems straightforward to them might be incomprehensible to someone who hasn't grown up within the magic-user community. It's a strange thing to think about, that people's life experiences and entire worlds are so different, but they suppose it's a good thing. If the whole world were composed of magic-users, things would be very chaotic indeed.

"Within the magic-user community, there are sub-communities called houses," they say. "Originally, it was because everyone there lived in the same house, but nowadays, people rarely do, because these groups can be really big. Ours is comparatively tiny, though, so we all live together. House members all have the same goals, and try to work together to achieve them. Anyone can join, but you have to be careful, because for some of the more powerful houses, people sometimes join just so they can sabotage them."

Montparnasse scratches his chin. "So it's like a gang?"

"I guess," says Jehan, not entirely pleased with the comparison. Montparnasse nods. 

"I see. So Enjolras is your leader. Well, I suppose I should thank him for changing everyone's mind about me."

"It would have happened eventually anyway," Jehan says. But Montparnasse shrugs, looking unconvinced.

"I don't know. After all, I'm not sure _you_ even like me."

"I do now," says Jehan. They're surprised to realize that it's the truth. This whole getting-to-know-the-guilty-soul business has been tumultuous and not altogether comfortable, but they feel as if things have mellowed out now, and they can say with all genuine sincerity that they like Montparnasse as a person, or at least the person he's trying to be. 

Montparnasse grins, cat-like. "Thank you, Freckles."

Where does one go from there? Jehan doesn't know what to do. They feel something in the air, something besides pure friendship, and it's making sweat break out on the back of their neck. They push up on their toes and hop onto the counter, swinging their legs in a parody of casualness. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"What was the afterlife like?"

Montparnasse blows a little stream of air out the side of his mouth, thinking. Then, very slowly, he says, "I don't remember."

"What? How can you not remember?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm alive now, but the last thing I remember is the second before I died. After that, it's all black until I woke up in your conjuring circle."

"But you remember your first life?"

"Unfortunately." Montparnasse's voice is grim. "I wish I could put that behind me, forget I did the things I did, but I don't think I ever can. All I can do is try to atone for it."

Jehan hums. "How are you going to do that?"

"I don't know. But maybe Enjolras will be able to help me. I've been talking to him about magic rights, and social justice, and things like that."

 _I know you have_ , Jehan thinks, but that's too strange to say, so they just nod contemplatively. "He's very knowledgeable."

"And passionate." Montparnasse laughs. "Did you know I haven't yet found a topic that he doesn't have an opinion on? He gave me a whole speech on _punctuation_ , I swear to the earth.”

Jehan has heard that very speech before, too. They laugh along with Montparnasse. "That's a good one. But wait until you hear the one about writing utensils."

"Oh, I'll definitely be waiting for that.”

Again, Jehan isn't sure what to say, but now the air feels more companionable, more comfortable for both of them. There's no pressure to talk, because the silence itself isn't awkward. They smile at Montparnasse, putting all their charm into it.

"Do you want to come with me to Combeferre's room? I want to borrow a book from em."

Montparnasse holds out his hand. For a second, Jehan doesn't know what he's doing, until he wiggles it in front of them, and they realize he's trying to help them off the counter. Their heart swells with affection, and they happily grasp his hand, soft and slim in their own, and lightly jump down. It's hard to let go once they're on the floor, because it feels so right to be connected like this, but finally propriety wins out, and they drop their hand to their side again. Montparnasse smiles at them, softer than before.

"Let's go, then. Lead the way."

\--

Jehan ends up sneaking into the workshop later that night to make a real sleep spell for Enjolras. They don't want to complicate their lie to Montparnasse, and besides, it's not like their chronically-exhausted leader couldn't use the extra rest anyway. It'll be good for everyone involved, except for Jehan themself, having to stay up all night making the thing. Maybe they should whip up a sleep spell for themself while they're at it. 

Fortunately, it doesn't take too long to finish the spell, since they have all the ingredients at hand from the last time Joly made something similar (probably also for Enjolras, come to think of it), and they're done before daybreak. Still, their feet are dragging and their eyes feel scratchy by the time they shuffle to the couch in the back of the workshop and collapse on it, too exhausted to make it all the way back to their room.

They're woken up later that morning by the smell of breakfast, and a smooth voice asking what kind of fruit juice they would like. They're still disoriented, and this feels like a dream, so when they sit up to see Montparnasse smiling at them, holding a steaming tray in front of him like an offering, they can't help reaching out to touch his hand.

"What a nice thing to wake up to," they mumble.

"Are you talking about me, or the breakfast?" asks Montparnasse cheekily. "Because of the two of them, I'm pretty sure I'm more delicious."

Jehan may be sleepy, but they're not too sleepy to blush at this bold statement and swat at the air in front of Montparnasse's pretty, smirking face. "Don't be saucy."

"No?"

"Well, maybe only a little bit."

Montparnasse doesn't seem to have a reply to this. Instead, he turns over his shoulder and calls, "Enjolras, they're up!"

Enjolras pops into view with the slightly exaggerated peppiness of someone who's too tired to be awake and moving. "Good morning!"

"Did you stay up all night again?" Jehan asks. Enjolras runs a hand through his messy curls.

"Maybe kind of?"

"Don't do that," Jehan tells him hypocritically. "It's not good for you."

He shrugs, helping himself to a piece of fruit from Montparnasse's tray. "It's fine. But why were you sleeping in here?"

"Combeferre and Courfeyrac," Jehan says, praying that last night had been like practically every other night, and had involved the house's famous sex-lovin' duo getting it on. Enjolras makes a face.

"Oh, right. They were pretty loud, weren't they. I sent them out of our room because they were doing some... _interesting_ things and I didn't want to see that, but I didn't realize they would go where you could hear them. Sorry about that."

"No problem," says Jehan, mentally blessing Courfeyrac and Combeferre for giving them a decent excuse to be in the workshop all night. "I think you have it worse than any of us, since you're the one who has to share a room with them."

Enjolras smiles a little bit. "It's fine. Grantaire lets me sleep in his room sometimes."

"He _does_?"

"Not like that," amends Enjolras, blushing violently. "I sleep on his floor, that's all. Well, sometimes in his bed, too. But it's not like _that_. He doesn't like me in that way."

Jehan looks at Montparnasse and makes a face as if to decry Enjolras's incredible level of obliviousness. Montparnasse grins back, and at that, they can barely remember how to hold their face like a normal human person's. How does he do this to them? It's ridiculous. Maybe he's a siren or something. But no, that can't be. No one but Jehan reacts this way to him. It must be the other thing, the thing that they don't want to think about yet. 

"Well, let's eat breakfast," they say, overly cheerful. Enjolras makes a face at them in a way that he probably thinks is disgusted, but really is just adorable. 

"Aren't you going to clean your teeth?"

"Oh, right."

Jehan gets up off the couch and pads over to the sink in the corner of the workshop, where they do a decent, if not perfect, job of washing the sleep off their face. By the time they come back, Montparnasse has almost finished setting up breakfast on the table.

"I don't know where you keep the cushions for this room," he says. "I hope the floor is clean."

"It is. Joly wiped it yesterday."

"Bless Joly." Enjolras settles down gracefully, kneeling and crossing his hands in his lap. "Are you ready?"

"I am."

The three of them pass a very enjoyable breakfast, talking and laughing about nothing in particular, just treasuring life in the fresh morning. It's pleasant in the workshop; all the windows are open, and the curtains are blowing softly in the warm new-morning breeze. Enjolras is sitting in a puddle of sunshine, and the light sifts through his hair, making it shine like burnished gold. 

"I could just go to sleep right here," he says. 

If Montparnasse is a cat, Enjolras is a kitten. Jehan laughs at him. "At least finish eating first."

Enjolras sticks out his tongue, but picks up a strawberry and bites into it. "I'm eating," he says with his mouth full.

How does anyone think he's unreachable, unfathomable, a marble statue? Yes, he's fearsome sometimes, and he can even be terrifying. But the rest of the time, he's like this, sweet and soft. Jehan smiles in pure affection.

"I have a sleep spell for you once you finish," they say.

"Really? You made me one?"

"Yes, and I helped," says Montparnasse smugly. Enjolras looks impressed.

"Jehan let you help?"

"They did. Is that unusual?"

" _Really_ unusual. They won't even let _Combeferre_ in here while they're working on something."

"Well, then." Montparnasse smiles and runs a hand through his hair, posing. "I guess I feel special. Thank you, Jehan."

"It's nothing."

"It's something," says Enjolras, and then, "Does this mean you'll let me help now?"

"Not in a planet’s year.”

"Ah, well. I just thought I would ask."

After breakfast, Enjolras consents to take the spell, and falls asleep on the couch, snoring gently. Jehan puts a blanket over him, knowing how easily he catches cold, and Montparnasse kisses him on the forehead, though he's too deeply asleep to notice.

"Goodnight, angel."

"It's morning," says Jehan. Montparnasse thinks about it.

"Isn't it strange that 'good morning' is always used as a greeting, and 'good night' is always used as an exit line? I mean, you would never tell someone _good morning_ before you left, and you would never say _goodnight_ when first seeing someone. Language is so strange."

"It is that," agrees Jehan. "Do you think it's because morning is the first thing we see in the day, and night is the last thing?"

"So when we see people for the first and last time, we make it match up? Maybe."

"I think we're onto something here."

"I think so." Montparnasse smiles and pats Jehan on the shoulder. "So! What's happening today? How can I help you?"

It's strange, but Jehan has absolutely no reservations about letting Montparnasse help. He may not be able to use magic, but he can use his head, and that's just as important. Besides, it's nice to have a semi-trustworthy person around the workshop.

Trustworthy. Did they really just think that to themself? In the eyes of the world, Montparnasse would be anything _but_ trustworthy. He's a criminal, a murderer, even, and his tier of society is one that pretty much everyone else actively tries to avoid. In fact, most people would probably run away before having anything to do with him. 

Still, though, Jehan isn't most people, and although it seems strange, they realize they really do trust this guilty soul they've raised (at least to the extent that they trust anyone, which admittedly isn't exorbitantly), even enough to grant him an unofficial position in their workshop. The realization makes sparks fly up into their heart, hot and electric. 

"I'm going to start a new project," they say now. "We get some of our house funding through private commissions, sent by people who can't use magic."

"I know," says Montparnasse. "Patron-Minette-- oh, my old gang, I mean-- we used to send out commissions sometimes."

"Really?"

"Yes, well, sometimes it was hard to find people who would work with us. But we had a few reliable allies."

"What sorts of jobs did you ask for?" Jehan asks, genuinely curious. Montparnasse purses his lips.

"Oh, you know. Enchanted weapons, ways of spying, healing or invulnerability, a trained hamster for Gueulemer..."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He liked pretty things."

Jehan laughs. "He must have liked you, then."

"What?"

"I mean, how could he not?"

Jehan doesn't know where they got the courage to flirt like this. They know their face is burning hot, and they can barely manage to keep their eyes fixed on Montparnasse's face. Still, they feel pretty proud of themselves, just like they do when they manage a clever bit of wordplay, especially because Montparnasse looks so affected. If his slight blush is anything to go by, he doesn't find Jehan's comment displeasing at all.

"You're very sweet," he says finally. "But you know, I'm pretty sure the one Gueulemer would have liked best is you."

Jehan blushes even harder. "Really?"

"Really."

For a long moment, the two of them just stare at each other, something building and unfurling between them, and drawing them closer and closer. Jehan doesn't know what to do. They know what they _want_ to do, but that's not appropriate, and anyway, it's impractical to think of things like that when they have a spell to create. So, with great difficulty, feeling like they're physically struggling, they pull themself away from Montparnasse's hot gaze and turn back to the counter.

"Let's get started," they say. Fortunately, their voice doesn't shake too much. Montparnasse chuckles a little bit, but comes over to the counter as well, leaning on it with both elbows so he can look.

"So what's the spell?"

"It's kind of a pain in the ass, actually. I'm supposed to track this man, uncover his location, whereabouts, and activities, and report them all in real time."

Montparnasse whistles. "Jealous spouse?"

"No, mob wife."

"Oh, really? What's the name?"

"Irma Boissy. Do you know her?"

"Sure do. We grew up together."

It's amazing to see their worlds intertwining in this one woman-- on the one hand, Jehan's customer; on the other, a lifelong denizen of the criminal underworld. Maybe Jehan and Montparnasse have more in common than it seems, if they both have opportunity to interact with the same people. It makes them think; they'd been looking down on Montparnasse for his unsavory activities during his first life, but here they are facilitating those self-same activities in others, and up until now, they haven't even seen a problem with it. At least Montparnasse knew that what he was doing was wrong. Jehan had thought of themself as above all of that. They twitch uncomfortably, stung by a burgeoning sense of morality. Sure, they themself don't do the dirty work, but they help others to do it, then look down on them for it. Are they as good of a person as they've always thought? 

A flapping of wings pulls them out of their reverie, and they look up to see Gorbeau circling overhead. He must have come in through the half-open door while they weren't looking. Montparnasse, looking up when Jehan does, makes a squawking sound that's very similar to Gorbeau's.

"What in the name of mercy is _that_?"

"This is Gorbeau," Jehan says. "I raised him two years ago, and he's been my best friend ever since. Aren't you, Gorbeau?"

"Jehan."

"He can say your name?" asks Montparnasse, looking barely less unsettled. Jehan nods.

"Him being able to talk was supposed to be part of the spell, but something went wrong, and now that's all he can say. But he makes himself understood."

"Jehan," says Gorbeau. Jehan nods.

"See, right now he's telling me not to talk about him like he's not even in the room."

"Ah." Montparnasse gulps, then holds out a hesitant finger towards Gorbeau's wings. "Hello there, Gorbeau. Please don't bite me."

"Jehan," says Gorbeau indignantly. Jehan laughs.

"He doesn't bite."

Montparnasse looks slightly happier now. He gently strokes one of Gorbeau's wings, finger twitching occasionally, as if he's ready to jerk it away. After a few seconds of this, Gorbeau burbles happily and flaps up to rest on his shoulder. Immediately, he goes stock-still and stares at Jehan with wide, fearful eyes.

"Jehan, help!"

"It's all right. He likes you."

"But! What do I _do_?"

"Just calm down. He won't hurt you."

Montparnasse looks like he's fighting a very difficult battle with himself. Finally, though, his shoulders relax, and he breathes out a long, shaky sigh. "All right."

Jehan claps their hands together, wishing Grantaire were here so he could capture the adorable picture Montparnasse and Gorbeau make, set it down in paint and ink so they could keep it forever and look at it whenever they pleased. 

"You're friends now," they say.

"Well, any friend of Jehan is a friend of mine," says Montparnasse, and reaches up to pat Gorbeau more confidently now. Gorbeau rubs his head against his hand, obviously delighted with this turn of events.

"Jehan!"

"You're right," says Jehan. "All right, Montparnasse, are you ready to get to work?"

\--

The spell is indeed a pain in the ass. By the time Enjolras has woken up and is wandering around the workshop looking for something to eat, Jehan and Montparnasse have finished putting together all of two lines for one of the sub-spells. It's frustrating work, even though Montparnasse does seem to show a talent for runes, and for translating them into clever Parole. He's almost as quick as Jehan when it comes to flipping through Combeferre's dictionary now. 

"I've seen this symbol before, but in a different context," he says now, pointing to the page. "In that case, it seemed to mean "fire," but here, I'm pretty sure it has to refer to the sky. So what is it?"

"You've stumbled onto the wonderful world of ancient languages," says Jehan dryly. "Once upon a time, _sky_ and _fire_ , though pronounced differently, used the same pictograph, probably because of semantic relatedness. Once we developed a different orthographical system, we stopped thinking of them as related, and now all that's left is this confusing rune."

Montparnasse's eyes are glowing. "Really? Will you tell me more about the runes?"

"For that, you should really see Combeferre. Ey knows more than me."

"But I don't want to hear it from em. I want to hear it from _you_."

Jehan tries and fails not to blush. That sounded strangely intimate, somehow, even though they're talking about (objectively speaking) one of the driest topics in magical literature. How does Montparnasse do it? He could probably make the alphabet sound charming if he decided to recite it.

"Well," they say, trying to push away all the manner of mushy thoughts that have decided to settle in their brain, "It's a little pedantic, is that all right?”

"I secretly take a sweet to pedantic things," Montparnasse tells them. "I never told anyone before, but... I studied all the different dialects of the city back in my first life. No one thought anything of it, because I always speak standard Parole, but I could understand _everyone_."

"Really?"

"Yes. It took awhile, but eventually I got it all written down, too."

"That's beyond a treat!"

"Not really, just interesting to me." Montparnasse scratches the back of his head, eyes sliding down away from Jehan's. It's actually adorable. Is he shy about his accomplishments? Jehan touches his arm.

"No, really. It's incredible."

"Ah, well. Thank you." Montparnasse coughs. "So, there’s the deeply. Um… tell me more about runes?"

"I would love to."

Jehan goes over the basic history of runes, and their impact on language change, and Montparnasse pays attention and asks pertinent questions, looking totally, genuinely invested in learning the answer. They've rarely had an audience like this; pretty much only Enjolras or Combeferre will listen with so much undivided attention, and that happens rarely, because neither of them has a touch of free time. In fact, Jehan hadn't noticed when it happened, but Enjolras has left the workshop now, probably off on his next big mission to change the world. Not that it matters, though, because they're completely absorbed with talking to Montparnasse.

"So that's how it is," they finish, almost half an hour later. “As I said, Combeferre knows more than I do, but those are the basics, at least."

"More than just basics." Montparnasse holds up the spare piece of paper he'd been taking notes on and gestures with it. "Look at this! You could probably teach at the Academy if you wanted to.”

"Really?"

"Really. You're good at explaining things.”

"I'm glad you think so," says Jehan. "A lot of the others tell me I'm too flowery and overly-poetic."

"You're just the right amount of flowery and poetic. I understood it perfectly."

Jehan turns their face away, hiding behind their hair. They purposefully wait for a few breaths before responding, just to make sure their voice doesn't come out all squeaky and embarrassing. That would be the worst for establishing their reputation as a sophisticated and erudite scholar. 

"I'm glad I had the chance to teach you," they say, immediately worrying that it sounds too condescending. They're ready to backtrack, but Montparnasse just smiles gently.

"Me too."

Jehan smiles back because they can't help it, and Montparnasse keeps smiling, and the two of them are standing there smiling, wordless, just looking at each other with the dopiest of expressions, caught up in a capital-letter Moment, just like Jehan used to dream about during their stint as an amateur novelist. They doesn't know how they ever got this lucky, but they know in all their heart that they'll be grateful for it forever.

"I..." they begin.

The door busts open. 

"Hey-a-way!” shouts Gavroche, running into the room with all the force of a lightning storm. “Look who’s in the house~!”

Only a little annoyed at having their Moment broken, Jehan rushes over to embrace Gavroche and give him a noogie. "Hey, little elephant," they say. "It's good to see you again."

“It’s a prize to be here!”

"Are your sisters here too?"

“No doubt! They're out slackin’ their jaws with 'Ferre!"

At this moment, Montparnasse wanders over, probably bored of being left out. "Hello," he says. "Who's this?"

Gavroche puffs himself up. "Hello, sir! My name is Gavroche Thenardier, and I'm a member of Les Amis! Up until today, I was out on a very important mission."

Montparnasse doesn't seem to have heard much of this. He's staring at Gavroche, eyebrows slanted and mouth a perfect O. He looks like he could fall over at any given second, so Jehan is careful not to touch him, just in case.

"Montparnasse...?"

"Did you say Thenardier?"

"Sure did," says Gavroche cheerfully. "That's my full name, y'see!"

"And your sisters, their names are...?"

"Eponine and Azelma. Why?"

Montparnasse puts his hand on Gavroche's shoulder. "Kid," he says. "I know you."

"No you don't," says Gavroche positively. "I never seen you before, I swear. Don't know you from a monkey's butt."

Jehan is rather inclined to agree with Gavroche. How would an acquaintance be possible between these two? But Montparnasse nods, completely self-assured. 

"It's true. Your oldest sister and I were friends years ago."

"You and Ep were friends?"

"Very good friends."

The intonation of Montparnasse's voice is unmistakable to Jehan (though apparently not to Gavroche). Suddenly, they can't help but feel a surge of jealousy and resentment towards Eponine. Once she deals with the shock of seeing her dead beau mysteriously resurrected, it's very possible that she might want to pick things up with him again, and who knows, maybe Montparnasse will want that, too. Why wouldn't he, after all? Jehan tries hard not to scowl.

"Isn't that special," they say. 

"I'd love to see her and Azelma again," Montparnasse says, completely oblivious to Jehan's glare. "Do you think they'd be too surprised if I just showed up?"

Gavroche, having gotten over his initial disbelief, grins in excitement. "Nah, it'll be peaches. C'mon, I'll bring you to 'em!"

"Great!" Montparnasse goes to leave, but then, almost as an afterthought, turns to Jehan. "Do you want to come?"

"No thank you," Jehan says grumpily. "Go ahead and have fun."

Montparnasse looks like he's about to say something, but then Gavroche grabs his hand and starts pulling on it, and he allows himself to be tugged out of the workshop without so much as a second glance. Now alone, Jehan sinks down on the couch, no longer bothering to disguise their rancor. 

It doesn't seem fair. First it had been Enjolras, and now it's Eponine. Is Jehan ever going to get Montparnasse to themself? They sigh, long and deep, trying hard not to compare themself to Eponine in their head. She's a close friend, and they love her dearly. If Montparnasse chooses her instead, that's fine. It _is_. They just wish it didn't hurt so much.

They lose track of how long they sit there brooding, but finally, the door to the workshop opens, and Enjolras sticks his fluffy blond head inside. 

"Jehan? Are you in here?"

"No," says Jehan. Enjolras smiles happily at this and comes skipping in. 

"I'm glad I found you! Do you want to come to the common room? We're all there."

"Montparnasse and Eponine too?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll give that a miss." Jehan crosses their arms over their chest, just as much to shut out the world as to hold themself together. "I don't really want to see them being _old friends_."

Enjolras cocks his head. "You're jealous?"

"Something like."

"Why?"

"Because."

"You don't want them to be friends?"

"It's not that."

"What is it, then?"

"Why don't you use your head for once," Jehan snaps, frustrated. Enjolras draws back. 

"You don't have to yell.”

"Why shouldn't I? You never understand anything. Is it _that_ hard to comprehend social cues?"

Immediately, Jehan regrets their words. They know this is something Enjolras is sensitive about, and their annoyance is no reason to jab him. They're opening their mouth to apologize, but before they can, Enjolras is whirling away and making for the door, Gorbeau fluttering after him.

"Screw you, Jehan," he chokes out, and slams the door, hurt as a crying kitten. Jehan slumps back against the couch, hating themself.

"I'm such a stupid buggart,” they say out loud to the emptiness of the workshop. Now they've gone and upset Enjolras, someone who's completely uninvolved in their current dilemma, and he's probably going to go sulk in his room, and then Grantaire or Combeferre will notice that he's gone, put two and two together, and come find Jehan to yell at them. Just perfect. This is probably the worst day ever.

It's not too long before the door to the workshop cracks open again. Jehan sighs. Time to face the dragons. 

"Come in," they call.

Much to their surprise, it's not Combeferre or Grantaire who steps through the door. It's Cosette, and she looks much less angry than Jehan thought she would. "Hello," she says. Jehan waves limply at her. 

"You made Enjolras cry," she continues matter-of-factly, sitting down on the table beside the couch. Jehan grimaces.

"He went and told on me?"

"No, Grantaire had to pry it out of him. What's going on with you, Jehan? This isn't like you."

"I know."

"Is something the matter?"

Jehan debates lying, but decides against it. Cosette is too perceptive for that, and besides, it wouldn't be too bad to talk it out with her. They nod. 

"Montparnasse and Eponine know each other."

"They told us," says Cosette. "Why is that a problem? I would have thought you'd be happy that Montparnasse has the opportunity to catch up with a friend from his last life."

And, yes, there's the guilt. Jehan feels their heart physically start to ache inside their chest, cold and heavy as iron. Why _aren't_ they happier for Montparnasse? If they like him so much, they should want him to be as content as possible, even if that means him reconnecting with an old flame, shouldn't they? It's petty and mean to want to tie him down like this, just on the off-chance that he might decide to leave them and their... whatever it is. _It's not even a relationship_ , Jehan thinks to themself. At best, it's a mutual attraction, but that doesn't necessarily hold over in the face of a lover resurfacing. 

Jehan clenches their fist on their knee. So it's back to that. How can they get over their possessiveness? They'd thought they'd figured it out by letting Montparnasse go, telling Enjolras to sleep with him, but afterwards, they'd realized they'd had ulterior motives in wanting Montparnasse to get the attraction out of his system and come back to them. Maybe the fact that they'd stopped being jealous of Enjolras had nothing to do with the fact that they'd let Montparnasse go. Maybe they felt he was theirs again, and that was why they’d got back their sparkle. 

It's a maze of thoughts, trying to get to the bottom of this. Jehan wants to bang their head against the floor. In lieu of this, though, they turn to Cosette, who's been watching them with a patient expression. 

"What do I do?"

"About what?"

Right. Cosette's not a mind-reader. "I'm jealous of Eponine," Jehan confesses. "I'm scared Montparnasse is going to get back with her, and I'll never have a chance with him."

"I see. So you like Montparnasse?"

"I think so."

"I see." Cosette crosses her hands on her lap neatly, looking neither approving nor judgmental. "And you realize that you sound rather possessive?”

"I know I do,” says Jehan. "I think my attraction itself is fine, but it's manifesting in a weird way. I told you about what happened with Enjolras-- this is like that. I'm afraid it's going to keep happening like this, and I'm going to keep wanting him only for myself, no matter what he wants.”

Cosette thinks about it. "I'm glad you realize it," she says. "You know, I think realizing the problem is the first step to solving it."

"That's good and all, but _how_ do I solve it?"

"You're not going to like what I have to say," Cosette warns. Jehan shakes their head. 

"I don't care. I need your advice."

"Then, what I'm thinking is this. You need to take a step back. Slow down. You're attracted to Montparnasse, yes, but have you really gotten the chance to know him as a friend?"

"I have," Jehan says, a little piqued at Cosette's assumption. "You know he comes into the workshop while I'm working, and we talk."

"And flirt?"

"Well, yes. But--"

"Then take that out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop flirting with him. Pretend he's... I don't know, Enjolras. Get to know him as a person-- a whole person. Once you do that, your attraction can develop naturally."

Jehan sticks out their lip. "Well, what do I do if he flirts with _me_? Ignore him?"

"You don't have to ignore him. But be honest. Tell him you want to get to know him more first."

Jehan knows she's probably right, but they can't help arguing. "What about Enjolras? He tangled with him right away, and now they're great friends."

"Mm," Cosette agrees. "I know that may seem strange, but you have to remember that Enjolras never saw Montparnasse as anything less than human. He had no issues to get over, so for him, it was just a fun night that happened to turn into a beautiful friendship afterwards. Besides, you want something more than just sex, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then this makes getting to know him all the more important. Enjolras didn't need to, necessarily (although you'd be surprised at how quickly he really did when you weren't looking), because he wants a relationship with _Grantaire_. Sex with Montparnasse was just sex."

It's a good, valid point. Jehan hadn't thought about it that much, but Cosette does have a nice way of summarizing things, and getting into one's psyche. Maybe she should think about a career change-- Jehan could see her as a counselor or mentor, like Combeferre. They sigh, chest moving up and down with their breath. 

"I suppose you're right."

"I know I am." Cosette smiles. "It's not the worst thing in the world if you have some toxic tendencies. You're handling it very well by coming to me for advice, and doing your best to make sure it doesn't hurt anyone. What makes you a good person is how you deal with these things, not whether or not you feel them."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do. Everyone has toxic thoughts sometimes. What matters is that we don't hurt others-- or ourselves."

This is so reassuring to hear. Jehan thinks it's nice to know that they're not a bad person, even though they might have unhealthy tendencies in their thoughts sometimes. Cosette is right; they can't really control their thoughts, but they can control how they treat others (and themself), and that's what matters. 

"Thank you," they say. "That really helped."

Cosette smiles, warm as summer rain. "I'm glad. And now, don't you have something to do?"

"Yes." Jehan gets to their feet and makes for the door, Cosette following behind them. It's time to find Enjolras and give him the best apology they can. 

\--

Enjolras accepts Jehan's apology easily. At first, he's a little huffy, but when Jehan shows them how sincere they are and how they really are sorry for hurting his feelings, he brightens right up again.

"It's no problem," he says, smiling. "I know you were upset."

"How?"

"I mean, you're a good person. You wouldn't snap at me like that without a reason."

"But my reason was stupid."

"I don't think so. It was important to you, whatever it was, so that means it wasn't stupid."

Now Jehan feels _really_ bad for accusing him of social ineptitude. When he says things like that, it's hard to remember that he's the boy who makes Combeferre talk for him whenever he goes to the market. They lightly touch his hand.

"I was jealous of Eponine."

They hope he'll take this for what it is, a peace offering of private confidence (not as a justification, or an excuse, no, but as an explanation), and not as some sort of non-sequitur, making this apology all about them. That would be beyond low.

Fortunately, he understands. He smiles, still a little timid, but accepting, and warm. "Thank you."

"So you're not upset?"

"No. Well... I can't help but feel a little insecure. But I'll get beyond that with time."

He shouldn't have to get beyond it. He shouldn't be in this position at all. Jehan wants to say something, maybe apologize more, but before they can, Enjolras is pressing on.

"Why were you jealous of Eponine? And are you still?"

"I am," Jehan says slowly, answering the second, easier question first (though it's not easy to admit either). "I didn't want to say so, but I can't help but feel it, and I want to be as honest as possible, so..."

"It's all right. You can't help how you feel."

What did Jehan ever do to be blessed with such good friends? They touch Enjolras's hand again, thanking him, all the while thinking of the best way to explain what they're feeling, and why. It's all a muddle in their head, still, or at least it is to some degree, but after talking to Cosette, they at least have a starting place. 

"I didn't want Montparnasse to get back together with Eponine," they say. "Because, you know, then he would forget about me, and I would never have a chance with him. But the point is, I realized..."

Enjolras leans forward. "What?"

"I feel possessive over him, like he's _mine_ , and if he leaves me for Eponine, it would be terrible and _wrong_. It's toxic, and I'm not sure what to do. Or at least, I talked to Cosette, and she helped, but still, it's hard. I hate feeling this way."

"That doesn't seem like a treat."

"It's not. And the worst part is, this isn't even the first time I felt this way. I felt it before, with you. I hated you for awhile."

"Hated me?" Enjolras's eyes are as wide as saucers in his face. He puts a hand on his heart, not dramatically, just seeking confirmation that it's really him whom Jehan is talking about. "Why?"

"You took the night with Montparnasse. I was horribly jealous."

"I know, you said so, but-- you told me to!"

"Because I knew it was the right course.”

Enjolras shakes his head. "I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me at the time how strongly you felt? I could have--"

"But there’s the deeply,” Jehan interrupts. "I wouldn't have _wanted_ you to do anything. My feelings are my own, but I shouldn't impose them on you, just because I don't happen to feel a fancy for what's going on. It's toxic of me to be so possessive. I know it is. So it would be wrong of me to make everyone give me the top in that."

"Oh, Jehan." Enjolras gets up out of his seat and throws his arms around them, pressing his tiny body right up against theirs. He's practically in their lap, but they don't mind; it's always nice to be cuddled so closely like this. "You're such a good person, you know? I really admire you."

"You shouldn't--"

"Yes, I should. And I do."

"But why?"

"Because you're a good person." Enjolras taps Jehan on the nose, frowning threateningly at them. "Don't you argue with me about this."

"Well, all right. But I'm still not sure what to do."

Enjolras shifts so that he's more comfortable. This means he's squashing Jehan somewhat, but he doesn't weigh very much, so it doesn't matter. "What did Cosette tell you?" he asks.

Jehan sighs. "She wants me to take it low-down. Stop flirting with Montparnasse, see him as a friend, and nothing else. She said to pretend that he's you."

Enjolras looks flattered. "Me? Really?"

Jehan laughs at him. He's so sweet sometimes. "You know, someone who’s just a friend.”

"Then, I would be very happy to help you out," says Enjolras, and then without further ado, rockets out of their lap and affects a languid pose, leaning up against the arm of the couch. "Pretend I'm Montparnasse."

"Wait-- I thought I was pretending he was you."

"No, I'm him now. Go."

"Um..."

"I'll help you out." Immediately, Enjolras's face changes. He lifts one eyebrow and purses his lips, suddenly seductive, suave, even dangerous. “Well, lovekin, bless the stars above. It’s a prize seeing _you_ here, little necromancer."

"I told you not to call me that," says Jehan weakly. Enjolras is getting into his role a little too much, and it's strange. 

"Really? Then what would you like me to call you?"

"Um..."

"How about... sweetheart?”

"No, that's not a deal.”

"Why? I know we’re sweet gone on each other."

"But we can't."

There's a sound behind them, and Jehan turns to see Grantaire standing there, looking absolutely crushed.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Grantaire!" Immediately, Enjolras makes straight for him, and grabs onto his hand. "What you're seeing-- it's not what it looks like!"

"No, it's fine. You should carry on, I'll just go."

He turns to leave, and Enjolras, panicked, grabs him by the front of the shirt. He pulls him back until they're facing each other, probably using all of his strength, then rises up on his tiptoes and crashes their lips together, too passionate and desperate to really be a kiss. It's more like a headbutt. 

"Please believe me," he says, looking up with wide, frantic eyes. 

"Enjolras..."

Grantaire just stares at him for a second. Jehan isn't sure what he's going to do, and they're getting ready to provide aid and fix the situation, but then he grabs Enjolras, slams him up against the wall, and attacks him with deep, fevered kisses. Enjolras moans and clings onto him, looking like he's barely managing to stand upright.

"I'm yours," he gasps. "Please don't think anything else-- I love you, I'm yours, please..."

Jehan decides to leave the room at this point. It doesn't look as if either one of them are going to be up for conversation anytime soon.

\--

Jehan wanders towards the workshop, not feeling particularly good. It had been helpful to talk to Cosette, and even to Enjolras for a little bit, but then he'd gone and confessed his feelings to Grantaire in the most spectacular way, and now they're feeling even more alone than they had before. Maybe they're meant to be on their own forever. It would be fitting; they've done something immoral in raising a soul who wanted to stay dead, and now they're going to be punished with loneliness until they die themself. Justice, and all that. 

They're so preoccupied that they almost miss Montparnasse as he comes down the hallway, and they collide with him. He catches them in his surprisingly strong arms and sets them on their feet, hands lingering around their waist until he absolutely has to pull away.

"Hey, Freckles. Nice to run into you."

"Shut your mouth,” mutters Jehan, in too bad of a mood for banter. Montparnasse sobers up immediately.

"What's wrong?"

So, Jehan is supposed to distance themself from him, are they? In that case, they might as well go all the way, and get to the back of things right now.

"Are you going to take it steady with Eponine?" they ask.

"With Eponine?" Montparnasse looks genuinely surprised. "Jehan, she only likes women."

"I know, but sexuality can be so fluid... and I thought you and she..."

"Ah." Now Montparnasse looks a little wry, a crooked smile gracing his lips. "Yes, well. Right after she slept with me, she realized she never wanted to be intimate with a man again."

A flutter of hope whispers through Jehan's heart, sweeping in like the beat of Gorbeau's wings. They realize they shouldn't think this way, but it's hard not to, especially when Montparnasse is so close to them, and is looking at them in such a sweet, tender way. 

"So you and she..."

"Are just friends."

"And you..." Jehan swallows. "You're available, then?"

"I most certainly am."

They're about to go against all of Cosette's advice, and against common sense, too, but Jehan can't help themself. They step closer to Montparnasse, getting up in his personal space. He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't make any move to step away. 

"Jehan?"

"I hope I've got this right," Jehan mumbles, then stands up tall and presses their lips to his. 

Montparnasse makes a sound into their mouth that could be approving or nervous or just surprised, but he kisses back, clever and adept. It's so good-- Jehan doesn't think they've ever had a kiss this good, not even with Courfeyrac, back when they came onto him two years ago. They bring their hand up to cup Montparnasse's cheek, drawing little circles with their thumb as they lean deeper into the kiss. 

"I like you," they say. 

"Mm." Montparnasse kisses them again, just briefly this time. "I like you too, Jehan. I really do."

"Really?"

"Really."

And that's all that needs to be said. By the time Jehan has led Montparnasse into their room, they're not thinking about Cosette's advice at all. All that's on their mind now is Montparnasse, and his beautiful body, and the sounds he makes, and the way he tugs on their hair when they bite him in just the right place. For the rest of the afternoon, they don't think about anything else at all. 

A few hours later, still basking in a delightful haze, Jehan turns to look at Montparnasse from where they're lying on his chest.

"I'm glad you're here," they say. 

"Me too." Montparnasse gives them a gorgeous smile that slides into a languid kiss when Jehan comes up to meet him. "You're amazing, Freckles. I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you."

"Even though I never asked your permission to make that happen?" asks Jehan, fully aware that they're probably ruining the calm post-coital mood, but not able to stop themself. Montparnasse looks pensive. 

"I was upset at first. My first life was horrible-- nothing but poverty, and violence, and bloodshed. The only thing that made me remotely happy was fashion. It was a sad way to live. So when you brought me back, I thought I was going to be destined for the same thing, same old cycle, just living out a dreary, miserable life with nothing to show for it. But that didn't happen."

"No?"

"Not at all. I found friendship, real friendship, with Enjolras and the others, and I found _you_ , and I even found hope for the future, and the idea that maybe, just maybe, I don't have to bow to fate."

"Your circumstances are also significantly better," says Jehan cautiously. Montparnasse laughs slightly. 

"True. That will definitely help me change my fate, too. It's easier not to make a living for myself when I have a steady home to come back to-- if you're all right with me calling the Musain home?"

"Of course," says Jehan immediately. "But what do you mean, make a living? Are you going to go out and get a job?"

"Yes." Montparnasse sounds surprised, as if he didn't know there was any other option. "I can't just stay here sweeping around the house forever. Enjolras has been really lovely about letting me use his things, but there’s a limit to that. I want to contribute to the house if I'm going to stay here."

It's probably true, and Jehan would feel exactly the same if they were in Montparnasse's position, but they can't help but feel a little disappointed. They'd been indulgently imagining a future in which Montparnasse would stay with them in the workshop during the day, helping them with their spells, talking with them, kissing them, living life with them. Of course he wouldn't want to be an assistant forever, though; it makes complete sense that he would want to make his own life for himself, one that's not completely dependent on or inextricably tied to Jehan. He needs independence, and if Jehan feels for him the way they think they do, they need to help him attain it.

"I think that's a good idea," they say. "What do you think you would do?"

"Don't laugh at me," cautions Montparnasse. Jehan's curiosity is immediately piqued. 

"Why would I?"

"You might think I'm being silly."

"I won't."

"All right. Well. I'm thinking of learning magic."

"But Montparnasse," says Jehan as carefully as they can. "Not everyone _can_ learn magic. You need to be born with the right compatibility."

"Oh, I never told you?" Montparnasse grins, almost adorably proud of himself. "I do have the compatibility. I think it was something about being revived from the dead, I don't know, but Combeferre confirmed it. I can do magic now."

"You _can_?"

"Yes! Ey did the water divination with me. It was really interesting. I never knew about any of that."

"Really! So did ey explain much?"

"Some. Ey told me to come back to eir room whenever I felt like learning something."

Jehan laughs. "I feel like most of us have that relationship with em."

"I sort of got that impression, yes."

Jehan rolls over onto one elbow so they can look at Montparnasse from a different angle. They reach out and stroke his finely sculpted cheek with soft fingertips, not shy, but adoring, appreciating the silkiness of his skin. 

"Whom are you going to learn magic from? 'Ferre?"

"I was actually hoping that _you_ would teach me."

Jehan's heart thumps in their chest. They scoot closer and wind themself around Montparnasse, putting their face right next to his.

"Me? Really?"

"If it's all right with you."

"Of course," says Jehan. "But I don't know if I would be a good teacher. I've never done it before."

"I think you'd be good. I still remember how you taught me about orthography."

Jehan blushes happily, almost disbelieving, but flattered that Montparnasse had remembered that, even though it wasn't long ago at all. 

"If you're sure, then I would love to," they say. Montparnasse nods, determination set in his face.

"I'm certain."

Jehan wants to say something else, but before they can, a huge yawn splits their face, and they nestle against Montparnasse's chest to muffle it, embarrassed about gaping so wide. Montparnasse laughs a little at this and ruffles their hair. 

"Are you sleepy?"

"Mm, maybe just a little bit." Jehan looks up, slightly teary-eyed from the magnitude of such a forceful yawn. "I might nap, but is it all right if we stay together for a little bit?"

"I would love that."

"Good. Because I don't want to move." Jehan settles down, laying their head on Montparnasse's chest, and closes their eyes. Sleepily, they lift a hand and perform a brief reverse-light burst, plunging the room into darkness. "Goodnight," they say.

Montparnasse kisses their forehead. "Sleep well."

And they do.

\--

Jehan isn't sure how their relationship with Montparnasse will evolve now that they've taken the night together. So far, everything seems like it was before-- they spend the day in the workshop, watching the hours fly by. Jehan is teaching Montparnasse the rudiments of magic now, and he's proving to be an adept pupil. He can even do small spells by himself, now. At night, they stay in Jehan's room, talking and kissing and occasionally making love in the tenderest, most artistic way possible. Jehan thinks they're perfectly happy to live this way. 

They both have time to see their friends, too. Everyone works together when they're on a deadline for an important commission, and it just so happens that the house is under one such commission now. Everyone is rushing around, filling up the workshop, and becoming so stressed at filling such a huge request that they snap at each other irritably until Cosette does a burst and fills them all with soft energy once again. No one begrudges Jehan the time they spend with Montparnasse, teaching him, because as Enjolras says, he'll soon be another pair of hands around the workshop, helping them meet their goals. 

Montparnasse, too, seems perfectly pleased with the arrangement. He really does learn quickly, and he asks such pertinent, intelligent questions that sometimes Jehan is glad of having the others in the workshop just so they can use them all as a second resource for information. It's hard to answer everything Montparnasse asks sometimes.

"He's going to replace me soon," says Combeferre, after one more pedantic question about rune orthography. Jehan flicks em on the nose. "No one could replace you, 'Ferre."

"But Montparnasse is coming close."

No one can argue with that. Montparnasse is learning more and more every day. Sometimes, Jehan will wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, and realize that he's gone down to the workshop to work or study on his own. He's working on a small project for Enjolras, nothing really flashy, just a special lotion to keep his delicate hands from drying out too much, and he's utterly absorbed in it. Jehan loves how dedicated he is. 

"How's the project going?" they ask him every morning, and every morning, he smiles at them and excitedly tells them about all the progress he's made. Jehan always kisses him and tells him to keep on-- they know he's going to do great things. Life is busy, but it's sweet, too. Jehan feels as if they're living in a waking dream, idyllic and bursting with contentment. 

And then it all goes to hell. 

Jehan comes into the workshop one morning, humming happily to themself. Montparnasse hadn't been in bed that morning, so they'd gotten up quickly and eaten breakfast in a hurry, wanting to get down to the workshop to greet him and see how much progress he'd made during the night. 

"Good morning," they call. Montparnasse looks up from where he's sitting with Enjolras and talking seriously with him. 

"Jehan."

Something's wrong. Jehan can feel it in the air, buzzing like a cloud of gnats against their skin. They take a step towards the couch, but stop at Enjolras's look, warning them not to come any closer, for their own sake just as much as Montparnasse's.

"I'm going to go wake 'Ferre," he says, getting up off the couch. Jehan wants to ask him not to go, but there's no way they can stop him. They stand still, rooted in place, while he leaves the room and carefully shuts the door behind him. 

"What's going on?" they ask, oh-so-carefully. 

Montparnasse looks up. His eyes are drops of ice. "You made a spell."

"I make a lot of spells." Jehan knows what he's talking about, though, so there's no need to be disingenuous. It was silly of them not to think he would find out about their early work to keep him contained in the house. They run a hand through their hair. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Montparnasse's voice is sharp, but fragile, cold as the thinnest icicle. He sounds like he's trying to keep himself together, balancing on a needle-sharp point between tears and rage. Jehan can hardly stand to see him like this.

"I didn't know how you would be. I wanted to be safe..."

"But you worked on it with me. You told me it was a sleep spell for Enjolras. You _lied_ to me."

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Why?" The needle-point is edging towards tears. "Jehan, _why_?"

"I didn't know-- I wanted to make sure we were all safe--"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I didn't trust you?"

"It would have been better than going behind my back!"

"I'm sorry." Somehow, Jehan feels like they're going to be saying this a lot during the course of this conversation. "Really, I'm sorry. It was before I got to know you. I trust you now."

"But do you?"

Jehan is thrown off guard, suddenly more wrong-footed than they'd expected. "What do you mean?"

"You're always jealous. You asked if I was going to get back with _Eponine_ , for God's sake. And I saw how you looked at Enjolras whenever I was flirting with him. You don't trust me at all."

"It's just because I like you so much--"

"Bullshit. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are sweet gone on each other, and they don't act that way. Courfeyrac flirts with everyone, and Combeferre doesn't care, because ey _trusts_ him. That's what love is."

Jehan doesn't even know what to say. They want to beg for more understanding, try to make Montparnasse see their point of view, except they have the sneaking feeling that he's right. They should've taken Cosette's advice; cultivated some more trust and assurance, a deeper bond than just their attraction. This is what they get for jumping in as they'd done and expecting the problems to just disappear. Slowly, they bow their head.

"I'm sorry, Montparnasse."

"I just." Montparnasse puts his head in his hands, suddenly broken. "Why didn't you tell me any of these things?"

Why hadn't they? Jehan can't really think of a compelling explanation. Had they been trying to ignore the problems, hoping they'd just fade away? Yes. But there had been more to it than that.

"I was scared," they say. 

"Scared?"

"Yes. I thought-- still think, actually-- that you would lose interest in me if you knew what I was actually like."

Montparnasse doesn't say anything to this. He just looks up, and the expression on his face makes Jehan want to run and comfort him, only they know they'd be pushed away immediately if they tried. So they hold up a hand, not sure what it's supposed to be, but needing to make him understand that they would make contact with him if he allowed it.

"I just like you _so much_ ," they whisper. 

"And I like you," Montparnasse says. "But you have to understand, I need to be with someone who can trust me."

"I'm working on it..."

"I know. But in the meantime, you just see me as an object, don't you?"

Jehan puts a hand to their heart, knowing they look studiedly dramatic, but too offended to do anything else. "What are you _saying_?"

"You do. I'm just a potential lover; I'm not a person in my total sum. I'm an object. Don't even try to deny it. I know that's what you think."

"I don't--"

"Really? Then why are you so proprietary of me?"

Jehan doesn't have a good answer for that. They want to protest, to tell Montparnasse that this isn't what they think, and he's a person, just like them, but the truth makes the words stick in their throat, and they bow their head, unable to protest.

"I'm sorry."

"Really? You're sorry?"

Montparnasse stands up from the couch, lithe and elegant. He comes over to Jehan, and for a second, they're almost afraid of what he might do, only they know he won't hurt them, so they stay still, stiff and rigid, while he threads an almost-gentle hand through their hair, tucking the long strands behind their ear.

"I like you," he says, voice rasping, and scratching in its undertones. "Jehan, I like you more than a limpet. But I can't be with you until you see me as your equal."

And with that, he's gone, closing the door softly on his way out, walking away from Jehan's life, just as they'd been afraid he would. He's gone, now, and no matter how much they might wish it, there's no way to get him back.

"I'm sorry," they whisper to the air, but it's too late. Montparnasse is gone.

\--

Jehan goes searching for Cosette the next morning, after a long, sleepless night. She's the one who knows the most, and who can probably help them figure out the tangle they've gotten themself into. 

Unfortunately, when they find her, she's not alone. She's in the common room with Enjolras and Combeferre, eating breakfast with them and playing cards. All of them look perfectly relaxed and happy. 

"Hello," she calls out, sweet as a lark. Combeferre waves cheerfully, too. Only Enjolras stays quiet, looking conflicted, as if he doesn't know quite what to do. It makes sense. Montparnasse is his friend as well as Jehan, and he probably doesn't know what to think about the whole situation. Jehan settles for a demure sort of wave.

"Good morning, everyone."

"What's wrong?" asks Cosette, seeing their face. "Did something happen?"

Jehan loves her concern. It feels so nice to be validated. "Something did happen," they say. "Is it all right if I ask you for advice about it?"

"Sure." Cosette looks at the other two. "Is that fine with you?"

"Yes," says Combeferre, and Enjolras nods, even though he looks distinctly uncomfortable now.

"Go ahead."

Jehan comes over to the couch and sinks down on the fluffy carpet in front of it. They look up to the others, noting how worried they look. There's no doubt that what they have to say will be taken seriously. Well, that's some comfort, at least. With a few inward affirmations to themself, Jehan speaks. 

"I did something bad to Montparnasse."

Combeferre and Cosette frown immediately. Enjolras doesn't move. He looks just like a statue carved from the purest stone.

"You lied to him," he says.

"Yes, well..."

"You lied to him and had him help you make a spell for his own containment, just like some sort of animal. I can't believe you would do that, Jehan."

Jehan can hardly believe they would do that either. What had they been thinking? The mistakes they'd made a scant few weeks ago seem so far away now, even if their consequences aren't. They bow their head, allowing Enjolras's words as truth.

"I'm sorry."

"You can be sorry all you want, but that doesn't change what you did, now, does it?"

"Enjolras, that's enough," Combeferre breaks in quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "We can't change the past, no, so isn't it better to look forward to the future?"

Only Combeferre has the power to quiet Enjolras like this. He huffs and goes silent, crossing his arms over his chest. Cosette takes the floor now, looking uncomfortably deeply into Jehan's eyes with her own clear brown ones. 

"Are you really sorry for what you did? Or are you sorry that you got caught?"

"I'm sorry for what I did! Is that even a question?"

Cosette nods, like they've passed some sort of test. She allows her piercing gaze to lighten up, just a little bit. "Then, what do you want to do about it?"

"I don't know. I feel awful, you know, and I don't want him to think that I don't value him as a person, because he _is_ a person, and I want him to feel that--"

"Slow down," says Cosette. The corners of her eyes crinkle up. "Jehan, it's wonderful that you're so concerned, but we can't really understand you when you're talking so quickly."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just so--"

"I know. But let's take this slowly, all right? In your own words, can you explain what happened?"

"I made a spell," says Jehan. "I didn't know how Montparnasse would be, so I created a spell to keep him contained in the house, and when he came into the workshop, I lied and told him it was a sleep spell for Enjolras, and then he helped me make it. But I promise, I never used it!"

Combeferre scratches eir head. "Is that so bad? Lying aside, of course."

This is the hard part to admit. "Montparnasse took it as a proof that I think of him as an object to be controlled," Jehan says. "He alluded to my jealousy, and my possessiveness, and he said he can't be with me if I don't see him as a person. But I do, I just, I just..."

"You don't trust him."

Jehan sighs. They can't reply to that, not because they don't know the answer, but  because they don't want to say it out loud. 

"Am I a bad person?" they ask. 

"A little," says Enjolras. Combeferre smacks him.

"Enjo, apologize."

"I didn't mean that." Enjolras looks at Jehan with dark, serious eyes, utterly sincere. "What I meant was that we're all bad people, a little bit. Human nature is flawed, and no one's perfect. But that doesn't mean there's no hope, because we can choose to be good, even though we have our problems, and that's what matters in the end. Did that make sense? Do you get it?"

"I do," says Jehan. "Cosette said something similar." Cosette smiles and nods, accepting the acknowledgement.

“I did.”

"I just don't know, though," Jehan continues. "I can't help feeling like I'm such a bad person, so it doesn't matter what I do-- I'm just going to end up ruining things."

"That's hard," says Combeferre slowly. Ey runs eir fingers through eir hair, knotting up the long strands. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Jehan. It can't be easy."

"It's not."

"I wish I had some wiser words to tell you, or a way to make you less discouraged. Unfortunately, there's no spell for that. All I can say is that you have to focus on the here and now. Maybe you'll do something unfortunate in the future, or maybe something will go wrong, but nothing will go right, either, not if you give up. You can't change the past, and the future is in the future, so for now, the only thing you can do is focus on doing the next thing."

Ey's too wise. Jehan tries not to make a face at eir sage-like calm. "But how can I afford not to worry about the future? I have to make it happen."

Combeferre's smile lights the room. "Well in that case, don't you have control over it? Make it happen in little bits at a time; just keep doing the next thing until the future happens."

"Ey's right," says Cosette. "I know you're worried about everything, but let's just break it down into little pieces. You can do little pieces."

"I don't know. Can I?"

"You can."

"All right, then, what should I do first?"

"You should apologize to Montparnasse," says Enjolras. "He's very sad."

"Is he?"

"Yes. He came and slept in my room last night because he didn't want to be alone."

Jehan can't help but feel a swoop of irrational jealousy; they want to be the one to stay with Montparnasse and cuddle and comfort him. They want to kiss him, reassure him, help make everything all right. With an effort, though, they talk back at the jealousy, pushing it away. The reason Montparnasse had needed comforting was because of Jehan, so there's no way he would want to come and seek them out. It makes much more sense that he would go to Enjolras.

"Will he listen to me?" they ask. 

"I think so. It's been a whole day, so he's probably calmer now."

"Was he not calm before?"

"No, he cried in my bed."

The jealousy comes back full-force. Jehan tries to swallow it down. This isn't about them, they remind themself; it's about Montparnasse, and right now, he's struggling and sad. What they need to do is focus on what would be best for him. 

"Do you agree?" they ask Combeferre and Cosette. Both of them nod.

"I think you should apologize as soon as possible," says Cosette. "He might feel that it's insincere otherwise."

Combeferre reaches for Jehan's hand and takes it in eir own. Ey rubs it back and forth soothingly. "I know it's hard. But you're going to do just fine. You'll get through this, I know you will."

Jehan has to struggle against tears. It takes a second before they can speak. "Do you really think so?"

"I do. I promise."

Enjolras gets off the couch and comes to kneel beside Jehan on the rug. He wraps his arms around them and lays his head on their shoulder. His breath is soft and warm against their neck.

"I'm sorry I was upset with you," he says. 

Jehan puts the hand that Combeferre isn't holding on his waist, drawing him in close. "Don't apologize."

"But I want to."

There's no arguing with that. Jehan laughs a little bit, even through the anxiety knotting up in their stomach. They're so blessed to have good friends like these, wise Combeferre, kind Cosette, fiery little Enjolras. All of them are so caring, and so helpful in each of their distinctive and precious ways. How did Jehan ever get so lucky?

"Thank you all," they say. 

Enjolras darts his head up and kisses them on the cheek. It's sweet for a moment, but then he bops them on the head with the flat of his hand, and it becomes a little less so. 

"Go!"

"Now?"

"The best moment is now!”

"All right." Jehan gets up off the floor, dislodging Enjolras as they do (he doesn't seem to mind), and stands. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck, because you're going to do beautifully," says Cosette, but then Combeferre nods gravely and recites one of eir ancient blessings, so there's that. Jehan swallows hard and makes for the hall.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Come find us afterwards if you’d like,” says Cosette.

“Unless you’re doing something with Montparnasse,” adds Combeferre, raising an eyebrow archly. Cosette bats at em. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

Somehow, the silly banter gives Jehan enough strength to leave the room. They don’t expect that they’ll really be doing anything with Montparnasse besides begging for his forgiveness, but Combeferre’s acceptance of the situation and light teasing is comforting all the same. 

They head down the hall, wondering where Montparnasse might have gone. He doesn't have his own room, so he's probably either in Enjolras's, or in the workshop. Jehan decides to check the workshop first, out of pure hopefulness. They don't want to have a heartfelt discussion in Enjolras's room, surrounded by pictures of patriotic figures and written-out speeches tacked to the walls (or worse, Courfeyrac sitting and listening in).

As they get closer, they notice Gorbeau fluttering around outside. He looks distressed; even his feathers seem more frazzled than usual. They put a hand out to him, beckoning him.

"Gorbeau, what's the matter?"

"Jehan," he squawks, coming over to land on them. "Jehan!"

"That doesn't sound good."

"Jehan!"

Jehan squares their shoulders and knocks on the door to the workshop. It's time to face what's in the list for them now.

Montparnasse opens the door a minute later. There are circles under his eyes, and his mouth is set in a downward droop. He looks like he's just come in out of the rain, miserable and with a dark expression. 

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Can I come in?"

Montparnasse waves them both inside, readily, if not graciously. He goes over to the couch and sits down on it, not making any motion for Jehan to follow. Jehan doesn't want to sit on the floor and put themself below him, not for this discussion, so they come around to the table and perch on it.

"I need to talk to you," they say. 

"Really? It's about time."

"I know, I know. But for real this time."

"All right. I'm listening."

That's the first step. Jehan had been afraid that he wouldn't even listen, that he'd be so upset that he'd throw them out without giving them a chance to plead their case. But fortunately, he seems to be a bit more reasonable than that. Jehan clears their throat.

"Well, so. I lied to you."

"I know that," says Montparnasse, just a little snarkily. "Do you have anything else you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to apologize for that. I never did."

"You did a bit," says Montparnasse, probably trying to be fair. "But another apology would be a big stone in the river."

"Yes, well. I'm sorry."

Montparnasse looks disappointed somehow, and Jehan thinks they know why. If they were in his position, they would want a much more comprehensive apology, detailing the reasons behind their actions, and a detailed plan determining never to do it again. This sort of casual apology doesn't seem like enough. So they open their mouth again. 

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

"Didn't? Or don't?"

Jehan sighs. "I want to put it in the past. But the truth is, even though I'm trying to work through everything, I still have trust problems. It's hard for me to completely trust you-- or anyone, really-- in situations that might blow out of my control. That's why I don't let anyone help me in the workshop, or share a room with me. I've never trusted anyone but myself, so it's hard for me to fully believe in anyone who's not me."

"So it's not that you don't think of me as a person? You wouldn't trust me even if I weren't a guilty soul?"

"Well, I suppose that's another issue, too. I think of you as a person now, but you're right that in the past, I didn't. And that was wrong of me, I know, and I'm sorry for that."

"But you don't think that now?"

"No, I don't."

"Hmm." Montparnasse appears to be pondering deeply, and it doesn't look pleasant. He looks like he's wrestling furiously with a tangle of thoughts. "I don't know how to feel," he says finally. "I want to believe in you, but it really hurts to know that you can't trust me."

"But I can't trust anyone. It's not just you."

"Well, don't you think that might be a problem? I understand that you have issues, I mean, look at me and where I've come from. I'm basically the king of issues. But trusting people isn't bad. It just opens more doors for you."

"What do you mean?"

"If I hadn't trusted Enjolras, I wouldn't have had clothes or a place to stay. If I hadn't trusted Combeferre, I never would have learned that I can do magic. And if I hadn't trusted you..."

Jehan's heart is in their throat. "What?"

"I never would have fallen in love."

 _What_? Of all the things Jehan had been expecting him to say, that definitely wasn't one of them. Their stomach feels light, almost too light, as if they're about to float up towards the sky without anything to pin them down. 

"You're in love with me?"

"Inexcusably so."

"I'm in love with you, too," Jehan says, all in a rush, because they're afraid the words won't be able to come out if they don't let them go right now. Montparnasse smiles, although there's still a sword's edge between them.

"Isn't that something?"

"Can't we be together, then?" Jehan asks, because they're going to keep on being brave now, and let the words come flying out. Montparnasse's smile dims.

"But you don't trust me."

"I told you--"

"You don't trust anyone. I know, I know. But don't you think that's a bad premise for a relationship?"

"Is it?"

"I think so. I mean, think about the successful relationships we see right in this house. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and now Enjolras and Grantaire-- they trust each other unquestioningly and completely. And even in most of the platonic relationships around us, they're built on trust and communication. What do you think will happen if we don't have that?"

He has a point. He _does_. Jehan just doesn't want to admit it. They stick out their lower lip, eyes to the floor. 

"It could work."

"No." Montparnasse sounds gentler now, almost painfully so, and it makes Jehan's heart clench. "Jehan, I love you, I really do. But if we want things between us to work out, we're going to have to work really hard."

"I know that," says Jehan, and they do. Relationships take work; they're not all sunshine and butterflies. It seems silly to give up this chance for happiness just because of that. They inch closer to Montparnasse's side. "You don't have to decide now. But don't give up on us just yet, please. Things could work out better than you could even imagine."

"I want to believe you, but... how is that going to happen? We can't make things go our way just because we want them to."

"I'm going to work hard," says Jehan. "Maybe I can get Combeferre to find some materials for me on building trust with people, and gaining communication skills. That would help, wouldn't it?"

"It would, but I don't want you to do it just because of me. I want you to want it, too."

That's another good point. Montparnasse seems to be full of them today. Jehan finally lifts their eyes from the floor, looking at him straight-on.

"I want it too."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I feel like this is a real problem that's only going to get worse as time goes on. I need to start working on myself, or I'm going to experience problems in every relationship I have, romantic or no."

Montparnasse nods slowly, convinced. Tentatively, he reaches out to brush his hand across Jehan's, and the touch is lighter than air, but it's enough to make Jehan shiver against it.

"I want to work hard, too," he says. 

"You do?"

"I really do. There's a lot I need to work on with regards to myself-- bitterness, anger, vengefulness-- things leftover from my past life that I don't want in me anymore. And I need help communicating and trusting more, too, so if you didn't mind, maybe I could go with you to ask Combeferre for those materials."

The edge between them disappears. Jehan stands up from the table and comes around to sit next to Montparnasse on the couch. They don't touch him, not yet, but they know their closeness says enough. 

"I would love that."

"Then, let's do that." Montparnasse smiles and holds out his hand. "Everything's all right now?"

Instead of clasping his hand, Jehan brings it to their lips and kisses it on the delicate fine-boned knuckles. They're pleased to see that Montparnasse flushes red at this. 

"Everything's all right," they say.

And they know that for now, it is.

\--

Things are easier after that. Jehan and Montparnasse go to Combeferre and ask for eir help in emotional regulation, and as always, ey is so glad to help and so enthusiastic that ey provides an entire library's worth of books, and several names of specialists in the city besides. Ey's also pretty interested in what's going on between Jehan and Montparnasse, and ey keeps asking for details, but Jehan doesn't feel like jinxing their fragile new relationship (if that's indeed what it is), so they try to keep their silence as much as they can. Combeferre respects this, because ey's probably the most mature person Jehan has ever met, but unfortunately, not everyone else can say the same.

"So are you two taking it steady now?" asks Grantaire at dinner, a few days after what Jehan has started to think of as Day Zero. He raises a spoonful of food to his mouth, never breaking eye contact. "Are you in a relationship? Is that what it is?"

Montparnasse coughs. "Well, you know, we don't like to put labels on it if..."

"Yes," says Jehan at the same time.

Grantaire looks between them, not even remembering to swallow his food. "Uh-oh."

Silence reigns over the table. Jehan doesn't want to look at Montparnasse, but they know they have to, so they blink at him out of the corner of their eye, hardly daring a sheepish smile. 

"I mean..."

"Maybe we should talk about this later," says Montparnasse, a little too loudly and cheerfully. "Don't you think we should talk about this later?"

Jehan looks around the table. All of their friends are watching with wide, fascinated eyes. Some of them look delighted. Others are cringing. They're not sure which reaction is worse.

"Yes, let's talk about this later," they say. Montparnasse sighs in relief.

"Sounds good."

Later comes rather sooner than Jehan would like. After dinner, Montparnasse directs them to Enjolras's room, which is empty, since Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre are all in the library discussing magic rights. He settles down on Enjolras's bed, and not seeing any reason to do otherwise, Jehan does the same. 

"So," they say. 

Montparnasse sighs. "Yes."

"I guess we looked like a pair of twos there, didn't we?"

"We sure did."

Silence. Jehan isn't sure what to say to make things less awkward, so they turn towards Montparnasse with the most seductive face they can.

"You know, Enjolras won't be back for awhile..."

"No." Montparnasse jerks away from them, and they frown, hurt. 

"What's wrong?"

"We need to talk about this."

"Well, sure. But we could play around for a little bit first, you know."

"No, Jehan." Montparnasse puts his hand out, as if warding them off. "We can't just have sex whenever things get too serious. We need to talk about what we're doing here."

"What we're doing?"

"Yes."

"I thought we were together.”

Montparnasse's face shows very clearly that he hadn't thought this. He twirls a strand of silk-floss hair between his fingers, steadfastly looking everywhere but Jehan’s eyes.

“Well…”

“All right,” says Jehan, nettled. “What _are_ we doing, then? We’re not together, so what is this… this _thing_ between us?”

“I don’t know.”

Jehan jolts, caught off-guard. “What?”

“I want to be together, but I thought we had to work on ourselves first. I don’t know if I can be with you right now, and… just, can we take it slow? I don’t want to fly into anything.”

“What,” Jehan scoffs. “Are you afraid or something? Why don’t you want to fly into anything?”

“I _am_ afraid.”

Jehan stops, brought up short. They hadn’t expected this, and now they don’t know what to say. Montparnasse being afraid seems unfathomable, almost wrong, like the laws of nature have been broken. He’s not supposed to be scared of anything, especially not a relationship with Jehan. They want to say something, but before they can, he speaks again.

“It’s not that I’m scared of you, so please don’t take it that way. But I’m afraid of how things might turn out. If we can’t work on ourselves separately, how are we supposed to work on a relationship together? Things might go terribly, and then we’ll have ruined something that could have been one of the best things in my life— and I hope yours, too.”

“But I don’t think we’ll ruin it,” argues Jehan. “Look at us. We’ve already come so far. I’m working on my possessiveness and jealousy, you know I am. I mean, I didn’t even get mad when you flirted with Enjolras today.”

“I didn’t flirt with him.”

“You gave him a rose. You never gave me a rose.”

“Do you want a rose?”

Jehan really does, but they feel like they’re going to sound silly if they say so now, so they toss their head and try to look dignified. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“All right, well.” Montparnasse is a little amused, judging by the line of his lips and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll get you a rose, then.”

“Do you see how easy that was?” asks Jehan. Montparnasse’s amusement drops away from his face.

“What do you mean?”

“We just had a tiny dispute, and we solved it so easily. Won’t it be easy to solve major problems in the same way?”

“What, with me just agreeing with whatever you say?”

“That’s not it.” Jehan searches around for the words, trying to string the sentences together in their head. “We talked about it. We _communicated_. And now we’re past the problem. Don’t you think that’s a good start?”

“It’s a good start for sure,” Montparnasse agrees, but then, “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

“How is it not enough?”

“I don’t know. I feel like we haven’t done enough work on ourselves yet. A relationship between us might not work out if we rush into it like this.”

Jehan’s face feels tight. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I want to take it slow. Can we just get to know each other more for awhile? I love you, and I’m not going anywhere, if you want that too. But I don’t think I can be with you like that, not yet. I’m not ready.”

It feels right and wrong at the same time. Jehan knows Montparnasse has a point, and they’re even willing to concede that his argument is probably more valid than theirs. But at the same time, they don’t want to let go of something that feels so easily attainable. This relationship is just beyond their grasp, and they can’t help feeling that they can make it happen if they just try a little harder. 

“When will you be ready?” they ask.

"I don't know." Montparnasse looks at them, finally, taking in their probably-dejected face, and chuckles a little bit. "Don't look so sad, Freckles. It's not the end of the world. I still love you-- I'm just asking you to wait for me a little while."

It doesn't seem like so much to ask when he puts it that way, and besides, Jehan can't think of any other arguments, so they incline their head in grudging acquiescence. 

"All right."

"All right?"

"Yes."

Montparnasse takes their hand in his and raises it to his lips. "Thank you, my dear."

Something warm rushes through Jehan's chest. So, maybe they're not together, officially. What does that matter? They're still going to have moments like these, moments that make their heart flutter and their head feel like birds are singing in it. They squeeze Montparnasse's hand, smiling.

"I'll wait for you as long as you want."

"Thank you, Jehan." Montparnasse kisses their hand again, and then, with a last look into their eyes, warm and glowing like the embers of a fire, he stands and walks away and is gone. 

Jehan doesn't know where he's going, but they do know that this is somehow fitting-- they both need space, and now is as good a time as any to start with that. They look down at the floor, smiling. Maybe things haven't turned out the way they wanted, but they can't help but feel a little sunshine-glow inside anyway. Everything will work out, they know it will.

In fact, things are working out now. They and Montparnasse might not be together, but he's not going to leave them, and they both have all the time in the world to figure themselves out. And then, once things begin to heat up, it'll be stable, and not liable to fly apart at any moment. Yes, they think, stretching out on Enjolras's bed, things are definitely working out.


	2. Chapter 2

Montparnasse takes to visiting Combeferre in the library while Jehan is busy outside the workshop. Jehan can't pretend they aren't a little sad about that; they loved having him with them all the time. But they know it's better this way. They're both independent, working on things that are important to them, and growing as people by themselves, and that can't be anything but good.

It's not like they don't have a lot of time with Montparnasse, anyway. He usually comes into the workshop with them and helps them with what they're doing, or learns from them as they work. He's catching on so quickly that they think he might be ready to work on spells by himself now, although he seems to show a preference for mage-work rather than casting.

"It's so much less bound by rules," he says when they ask him about it, and they can't help but agree. 

"It's my specialty, too. I'll teach you more about it next, then."

Time passes pleasantly these days. Jehan and Montparnasse work together in the workshop, or separately outside of it, and they spend their evenings together, eating and talking with the others, or more often, sitting in a corner of the common room, just talking between themselves. 

They don't sleep together or trade kisses and endearments anymore, and they no longer share Jehan's room. Instead, Montparnasse sleeps in Enjolras's room, tucked up into bed with him. 

"He cuddles a lot," Montparnasse says, laughing, when Jehan asks him how it is. "Especially when he's tired. It's like sharing a bed with a kitten."

Jehan finds that they aren't really jealous of this. Whether it's because of their work on emotional regulation, or because they've gotten used to Enjolras and Montparnasse's close friendship, they don't know, but either way, it works out nicely, because now they can just laugh along with Montparnasse and slyly ask him if Grantaire minds their nocturnal activities. 

"You better be careful," they say. "He might decide to join you one day!"

It's nice living like this. Jehan still wishes they could be with Montparnasse in a real romantic relationship, but they're happy this way, too. They count each day as precious, treasuring the moments they spend for as they come, instead of solely wishing they were something else.

This, they realize, is progress. They've spent so long in a state of dissatisfaction, pining over a reality that can't be instead of accepting things for what they are. Now that they're looking at things differently, it's like they've gotten a new perspective on life, clean and beautiful, and so much more satisfying. Maybe Montparnasse's arrival was a wake-up call; yes, they originally started to look at things differently because of him, but now it's because of they themself, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

\--

It's a pretty late-summer day, and Jehan is just leaving the workshop to get some lunch with Enjolras. He's been working terribly hard lately, doing a commission all by himself at the request of his client, and they want to take him out as a treat. Maybe afterwards, they can persuade him to take a nap and see if he becomes a little less cranky after that. Certainly, that would be for the good of everyone in the house, including him. 

They're waiting in the common room for him to get back from shopping for spell ingredients, and biding their time by playing a game of cards with Montparnasse, when the door flies open and Combeferre comes rushing in like a storm cloud, bald anger all over eir face.

"Where's Joly?" ey thunders.

Jehan looks up in alarm. "Combeferre? What's wrong?"

"Where's Joly?"

"I think he's visiting with Musichetta. Why, did you--"

"Go get him, now!"

Jehan whistles to Gorbeau, who's been perching on the windowsill and looking out into the garden. "Go get Joly, all right?" Gorbeau cheeps once and goes flying out of the room. Now, Jehan looks at Combeferre, whose anger hasn't abated in the least. "What's the matter?"

Combeferre opens eir mouth, but before ey can say anything, Courfeyrac comes in, half-carrying half-dragging a limp Enjolras. His face is just as wild as Combeferre's, and his eyes are darting wildly around the room.

"Did someone get Joly?"

"I sent Gorbeau," says Jehan. "Can someone tell us what's going on?"

Courfeyrac, completely ignoring them, lays Enjolras down on the couch and bends over him. "Joly's coming, all right? Lie still."

Now that Enjolras is in place, Jehan can see that he's bruised and beaten, and there's a long cut running across his throat. They leap to their feet and race over to the couch, shoving Courfeyrac out of the way to take Enjolras's hand.

"What _happened_?"

"He was attacked," says Courfeyrac. "Combeferre and I lost track of him, and he wandered off like he does, and next thing we knew, we found him like this."

"It's all my fault," says Combeferre brokenly. "I should never have taken my eyes off him, not even once. He's the leader of our house; it's no wonder someone tried to target him."

Enjolras tries to flap his hand weakly at em, and turns his head to croak out a soft “’s’not your fault." Immediately, Courfeyrac is bending over him to shush him.

"Shh, don't talk, all right? Just lie still. You'll hurt yourself."

“Won’t,” Enjolras says argumentatively, but after that he does stay quiet and stops moving. 

Meanwhile, Montparnasse is sitting stock-still on the couch, face white and fists clenched. He's terrifying. If Jehan didn't know him, and if they weren't so worried about Enjolras, they'd want to run away, because he looks like he's about three seconds away from exploding. 

"Who did this?" he growls, when he sees the others looking at him. "I'm going to kill them. Just wait. They're going to regret ever laying a hand on him."

"We don't know who did it," says Combeferre. "They didn't leave behind any identifying clues, and Enjolras says they were wearing a mask."

"A mask?" Montparnasse jolts up, suddenly even fiercer. Jehan really does move back now, unable to stay calm in the face of such naked fury. Courfeyrac, too, shies away. Only Combeferre remains mostly unperturbed. 

"Yes. He couldn't get a good look at their face."

"What kind of mask," demands Montparnasse, deathly calm now. "Enjolras, what kind of mask was it?"

"J-just a normal black thief's mask," stutters Enjolras, obviously intimidated even through his pain. Montparnasse doesn't seem to like this answer. He stands up abruptly and begins pacing around the room.

"If it's him..."

"Who?" Courfeyrac wants to know, but Montparnasse ignores him.

"I have to do something about this. I have to-- can't let them get away with this--"

"What are you talking about?" asks Combeferre. "Montparnasse, do you know who this person is?"

Montparnasse shakes his head and doesn't reply. He sinks back down onto the sofa and puts his head in his hands, which doesn't help the tense atmosphere at all. Too burdened down to talk, everyone sits in silence until Joly and Gorbeau come back.

"What's going on?" calls Joly, stepping lightly into the room, but as soon as he sees Enjolras, he drops his cane in horror and, not bothering to pick it up, goes limping towards the couch as quickly as he can. "Enjolras! My poor dear, what happened to you?"

"Attacker," says Enjolras succinctly, then whimpers at the movement needed to produce even this one word. "Joly, it hurts."

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry, darling. Here, hold onto my hand, all right? I'm going to make it all better."

But Enjolras tries to shake his head. "No, no--"

"My dear, I know you never want to use magic, but in this case, you need it. Look at this cut; it might become infected if we don't do something, and then you won't be able to talk. Would you like that?"

"No, but..."

"Shh, none of that. This is for your own good."

Fortunately, Enjolras finally manages to nod in agreement, and Joly, relieved, begins to do a preliminary burst, holding his hand tightly, both for comfort, and to help the magic find a grounding point. Jehan watches for a moment, fascinated as always by how the worst of the injuries begin to fade, but when Montparnasse makes an irritated sort of sound, they look in his direction.

"What is it?"

"I'm going out."

"What? Right now?"

"Yeah. I can't just sit here. I'm going to go find the bastard that did this and tell him something."

Jehan doesn't really like this. They don't want Montparnasse to be hurt as well as Enjolras. Still, though, they have the feeling that they won't really be able to stop him if he's made up his mind, so they try to make peace with themself, telling themself that everything will be all right, that Montparnasse is a professional, or at least used to be, and he knows what he's doing. 

"Be careful," they say. 

"He's the one who should be careful," Montparnasse growls, and to this, Jehan has no real reply. They take hold of Enjolras's free hand, looking down on him with his screwed-up face and tightly shut eyes. 

"It's all right", they murmur. "Joly will take care of you, and Montparnasse will catch the person who did this to you, so please don't worry."

They're really saying this as much to themself and to Montparnasse as to Enjolras, and Enjolras probably knows this even in his deplorable state, but he brings himself up and looks at them solemnly, beautiful big eyes so trusting in his sweet face. Jehan's heart hurts a little. They press a kiss to his hand, loving how his fingers curl around theirs. 

"It's going to be all right."

"Yes," interposes Joly. "But in the meantime, why don't you give us some space? Go make something nice to eat. He'll need it after this."

"And you will too," says Jehan, attempting to be lighthearted. "All right, I'll go make something that will heal the hurt and revive even the most tired-out spell caster. Montparnasse, would you like to help me?"

Montparnasse shakes his head. "I can't. I'm leaving now."

"Are you sure? You don't want to wait around to make sure Enjolras will be all right?"

"I know he will be. Joly is the best healer we have, right?" Montparnasse gets to his feet. "No, I'm going to make sure this son-of-a-bitch never hurts him again. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it." He goes over to Enjolras's couch and kisses him on the hand, just like Jehan had. "I'll be back soon, sweet thing." And with this, he sweeps out the door.

Jehan isn't so sure what they think of this errand, both because vengeance seems not to be the most productive thing, and because they're worried about Montparnasse, but they know there's nothing they can do to stop him at this point. Instead, they leave the room themself, going off to the kitchen to push aside their worries in cooking the best dish they can in order to rejuvenate their fallen friend. 

It doesn't take long enough to make lunch, or for Enjolras and Joly to eat it. By the time they've finished, Montparnasse still isn't back, and Jehan is beginning to worry. Montparnasse is brave and capable, yes, but the person who'd attacked Enjolras seems to be really scary. In spite of their faith in Montparnasse, they can't help worry that things won't turn out as they should. 

They decide to distract themself by puzzling over the possible identity of Enjolras's attacker. Whom could it possibly be? Someone rash, certainly, or they never would have dared to attack a house leader in broad daylight, but they must also be skilled, or they would never have been able to take Enjolras down so easily. He may not be the physically strongest of the house, but there's a reason he's the leader, and normally, he wouldn't be overcome without a fight. So it must be someone at the level of a house leader, or greater. 

Someone powerful, but malevolent? A dark thought clouds the edges of Jehan's mind, though they try to push it away. There are enough people in the city and enough power-hungry magic users that this attack could have been perpetrated by anyone... but Jehan can't help but remember the way Montparnasse had reacted to the news. It hadn't been pure concern, or anger at Enjolras's treatment. No, it had been almost... _personal_. Could it be...?

No. Jehan shakes their head at themself, discounting the possibility before it can worm into their head and take over. They can't think this way. Montparnasse would never do anything to hurt Enjolras, so his friends probably wouldn't either, not if they knew where his loyalties lie. It must be something else.

Still, Montparnasse's reaction had been strange. It was almost as if he had an idea who the attacker was, and where to find them. In spite of their careful thought selection, Jehan can't help but wonder if this is the case. So, maybe he's not affiliated with the attacker. That doesn't mean he doesn't know them. Jehan curls their fists in their lap, eaten up with worry once again. Who knows what Montparnasse is doing now?

They sit for awhile more, just thinking of what might be going on and why, until they can't stand it anymore, and they decide to go to Enjolras's room and see how he's doing. Worrying won't get them anywhere, but visiting him might.

Grantaire, Combeferre, and Cosette are all there when they come in, all of them kneeling around Enjolras's bedside as if they're holding a vigil. Combeferre is even holding a handful of spell books, as if ey thinks ey might need to do an emergency casting. Ey and Cosette look up and wave when Jehan comes in, but Grantaire stays where he is, tucked up in bed beside Enjolras and looking lovingly into his eyes.

“I’ll help you recover, my love,” he’s saying.

Jehan tactfully ignores this gross display of romantic affection. “How is he?” they ask.  
“You could ask me yourself,” speaks up Enjolras, peeved, and at that, Jehan knows he’s all right once again. They come over to the bed and sit down next to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. It still hurts, but it’s nothing to worry about. The injuries will fade in a day or two.”

“Are you going to have a scar?”

“No.” For some reason, Enjolras sounds a bit disappointed. He points to his throat, tracing what’s now only the barest outline of the cut that had been there before. “Look at this, Joly is amazing. He fixed me right up.”

“Joly is amazing,” Jehan agrees. They inch a little closer to Enjolras so they can take the hand that Grantaire’s not holding. “By the way, do you mind if I ask you more about your attack? I understand if it’s too recent, but I’d really like to know.”

Grantaire glares at them with very little heat, but plenty of warning. “Jehan, he’s still weak.”

“I’m not weak,” protests Enjolras, sounding nettled. “I can talk about it, so don’t worry!”

“But are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

“Peaches.” Jehan pulls out their notebook, in which they’ve scribbled the beginnings of a profile for the attacker. “So, Enjolras. Can you tell me everything that happened prior to the attack?”

Enjolras thinks about it. “I wandered away from Combeferre and Courfeyrac,” he says, earning a stern look from Combeferre. “I saw someone I knew, and I wanted to ask them what they thought about Lamarque’s new thesis, so I went up to them, but before I could get there, someone grabbed me from behind, and pulled me into an alley. I couldn’t see their face, because they were wearing a thief’s mask, but they were somewhat tall, and very strong. I tried to fight, but…”

“But?” prompts Jehan, as Enjolras pauses, looking away.

“They put the dark on me,” mumbles Enjolras, obviously ashamed. “Next thing I knew, I woke up on the ground with them hitting me, and I couldn’t do a thing but take it.”

"My poor angel," murmurs Grantaire, looking much more upset than Enjolras does. He brushes Enjolras's hair off his forehead and touches a kiss there. "I wish I could have been there to protect you. I'm so sorry."

Privately, Jehan isn't sure that Grantaire would have been able to provide much protection against such a frightening foe as this, but they decide not to say anything about it.

"Did you notice anything at all?" they ask. "Any strange or unusual mage-work, or obvious fighting moves, or anything like that?"

"I didn't notice what they used," Enjolras says. "In fact, I barely noticed anything at all. If I were going to guess at anything unusual, it would be that they moved really, really fast."

"Is that how they got you?"

"I think so. I barely even knew I was being attacked until it was happening."

"Did you notice anything else? Particularly loud footsteps, strange smell, anything like that?"

Enjolras shakes his head. "No, it all happened too fast. I'm sorry, Jehan."

"Don't worry about it," Jehan tells him. "I'm just trying to investigate what's going on by myself before Montparnasse gets back."

"Ah, right. Where _is_ Montparnasse?"

"Right here."

Enjolras sits up, startled. Everyone else turns towards the door. Sure enough, Montparnasse is standing there, pristine as always, though looking horribly annoyed. 

"I'm back," he says.

"Montparnasse!" Jehan stands up and goes to him, too relieved to give him his personal space right now. They clasp his hand, just a little too long before letting go. "Where were you?"

"Finding Enjolras's attacker."

"Who is it?" chorus five voices all at once. Montparnasse grimaces, looking as if he's at war with himself. For a second, Jehan thinks he won't tell them, but then the fight goes out of him, he sighs, and sinks down on the edge of Enjolras's bed where Jehan had been just a minute ago.

"His name is Claquesous."

"Claquesous," says Enjolras slowly, as if trying the syllables on his tongue. "How did you know that?"

"Because I know him."

"You do?"

"Yes. He was a leading member of my old gang."

Enjolras regards Montparnasse calmly and carefully through serious eyes. "Why did he attack me?"

"I don't know, but I suspect..." Montparnasse hesitates, almost as if he's afraid to say the next part. Enjolras nudges him. 

"What?"

"I think it may have to do with me."

In their heart of hearts, Jehan had known this would be the case. This is exactly what they hadn't wanted to think about or admit might be true, but now there's no way to push it away, and they're forced to accept it as a possibility. 

It's not really Montparnasse's fault, of course. He couldn't help being raised from the dead, or fraternizing with the people who raised him, just as he can't help having a former association with his old gang. There's really nothing he could have done to prevent this attack, short of physically accompanying Enjolras to the market to forestall it, but there's no way he could have known about it. Not unless...

"Montparnasse," says Combeferre, as if mirroring Jehan's thoughts, "Have you been in contact with your old gang?"

Montparnasse's pale face floods with color. "I..."

"How long?"

"They're the ones who found me, I didn't--"

"How. Long."

"A few weeks," whispers Montparnasse. Jehan would almost sympathize with him, except they can't help but feel horribly betrayed, and that overshadows any other type of feeling. They clench their jaw.

"So all the time you've been accusing me of giving you the turn, you've been going behind our backs to whack it up with your murderer friends? Just a treat, Montparnasse."

"I didn't think there was any harm in it--"

"Really? Because I think this looks like harm, don't you?" Jehan gestures to Enjolras, lying still and staring between the two of them, slightly open-mouthed. "Were you thinking it would all be sugar-cakes and wine? It's plain as a book on the table that this would happen, but you didn't think, and Enjolras had to take the consequences for it."

"It's all right," Enjolras tries to say, but Grantaire and Jehan shush him at the same time (though possibly for slightly different reasons). 

"It's not all right."

"I'm sorry, Enjolras, I really am," says Montparnasse, and he does look sincere. "If I knew they would hurt you, I never would have told them a single bit-piece."

Enjolras seems to accept this, which isn't really surprising, but Jehan isn't so easily appeased. "How could you not know?" they demand. "Your friends aren't candy angels you know. They're _evil_ \--"

"They're not." Montparnasse's cheeks have gone rosy again, but this time, it's clearly from anger. He sits up straight, as if pulled up by sheer force of his passion. "Jehan, you don't know anything, so don't you say a word against my friends. I won't take that."

Suddenly, Jehan is reminded of how dangerous Montparnasse really is. He's not someone to be taken lightly, no matter how kind he might be acting lately. They're not afraid, though; if anything, this makes them even angrier. How dare he make almost-threats like this, using his frightening to demeanor to try and scare them off a valid point? They're not going to cower away every time he decides to puff himself up.

"I'll say whatever I damn well please," they snap. "After all, I've never seen your _friends_ do a thing but hurt people."

"That's because you don't know them!"

"You're right, and I don't need to. Their actions speak for themselves."

"You haven't seen all their actions. How can you make that judgement?"

"Because there's proof lying in bed right here!" Jehan points to Enjolras furiously. "Do you see this? Are you really going to defend someone who would hurt our friend like this?"

Montparnasse deflates just a bit, and Jehan is thinking they've won, but then they glance at his eyes and see that they're fairly burning in his head, twin pieces of flame. It's such a frightening look that if they were any less stubborn, they would want to make peace somehow. However, they are stubborn, and they still believe they're in the right, so they press their advantage and talk on.

"You must know that your friends are at least dangerous people. Did it honestly never occur to you that they might try something like this?"

"It _didn't_!" Montparnasse looks almost surprised at his outburst, but he collects himself immediately. "It didn't," he goes on in a more steady tone. "I don't know how to convince you of this, but they're not all bad. I never would have thought they would do something like this. Not to Enjolras."

"But to someone else? Someone we don't know?"

Montparnasse bows his head. "Perhaps."

"Then how is that any better?"

"Because I don't know them!"

"So you don't care about anyone besides your friends?"

"That's not it, I..."

"Montparnasse," says Enjolras. "I'm ashamed of you."

Montparnasse looks at him. There's very real grief on his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Finally," says Jehan, unable to stop themself from showing this little bit of vindictiveness. They have no idea what Montparnasse is going to say to that; he looks as if he doesn't even know himself. They're preparing for a fight, just in case, but then Cosette holds up her hand.

"That's enough."

"What?"

"That's enough," Cosette repeats. "You need to stop fighting like this. It's not going to solve anything."

"But he--"

"But they--"

"I don't care. Right now, we need to think about Enjolras. He might be in danger."

"I'm all right," says Enjolras. "Joly healed me well, you know."

But Cosette frowns, hard. "That's not it. Your attack was frightening, yes, but it's over now, and you're fine. I'm more worried about what's going to happen now."

"What do you mean?"

"They cut your throat," Cosette says. "That means they could have taken some of your blood. And that means..."

Jehan's chest goes cold. "Blood magic," they whisper. 

Cosette nods. "Who knows what they might be planning now?"

"I can find out," says Montparnasse. He sounds miserable. "I don't know what blood magic is, exactly, and I don't know why it's so bad, but I do know that I want to keep Enjolras safe, so if you want, I can go talk to Claquesous and see what he wants."

"I don't think that's a good idea," says Combeferre. "It's not that we don't trust you, but the Patron-Minette is your old gang, and that means something."

"So you think I'd change loyalties like that? Just leave you all because my old friends came back?"

"I don't know. Would you?"

Montparnasse puts his head in his hands, weaving his fingers through his silky dark locks. "I don't know," he mumbles. "I don't know what to think. I love you all, and I would never betray you, but I was with the Patron-Minette for _years_. I'm loyal to them, too."

"And we wouldn't expect you not to be." Cosette comes and sits down beside him. She puts a gentle hand on his back and runs it up and down. "Montparnasse, your loyalty is a good thing. We love that about you. And we understand that you're conflicted now, so we're not asking you to make a choice or anything. All we're asking is for you to stay here in the house until we can figure out what's going on."

"I suppose I can do that."

"Good." Cosette pats him once more, and gets briskly to her feet. "All right, we're going to have a lot to do. Montparnasse, Grantaire, you stay with Enjolras. The rest of us are going to try and figure out everything we can."

"We can do that," says Grantaire, and Montparnasse scowls and glowers, but doesn't argue, and does take Enjolras’s hand, clearly ready to stay where he is, so that's something. Cosette gestures to the others. 

"Let's go talk to Eponine."

"Good thinking," says Montparnasse. His voice still sounds like he's swallowed rocks, but at least he looks a little less tortured now that he's next to Enjolras. "Don't all come at her at once, though. You'll scare her away."

"Let's just have a house meeting and leave it up to her to offer suggestions," Enjolras suggests, and then, when Combeferre tuts at him, "Don't worry, I won't get up, I promise. But we can meet in here, or you can carry me to the others, and I'll be good and stay still. I just want them to know what's happening."

"That's a good idea," says Cosette. "Is that all right with all of you?"

"Of course."

"No problem."

"I think it's a good idea."

"Perfect." Enjolras lifts his arms. "Pick me up, then, and let's go find the others."

Once everyone is assembled in the common room, Enjolras, who's lying on Grantaire and Combeferre (with Montparnasse kneeling next to him and stroking his hair), lifts a dainty hand and waves it for attention.

"So, I need to tell you what's going on."

"Yes, please explain," says Joly. "He came in all bloody and hurt," he explains to the rest of the room. "I had to heal him, and it took a lot of energy, let me tell you."

Enjolras nods. "I was attacked at the market. They really got me good. I didn't know who they were, but..."

"I do," finishes Montparnasse. "He's one of my friends, actually, a man named Claquesous."

"Claquesous?" Courfeyrac asks. "Isn't he part of the Patron-Minette?"

"Yes, he led the group alongside me and two others," says Montparnasse. Courfeyrac looks suitably impressed, but Eponine is frowning beside him, tapping her fingers on her knee. 

"Why did he attack Enjolras?"

"That's what we want to find out," says Montparnasse. "I offered to go and find out, but given my ties to the group, we thought it might be better if I stay in here and let someone else do the legwork."

"Then count me out, too," says Eponine abruptly. "I'll work with Mont."

Jehan knows that Eponine and Montparnasse are old friends (they know it very, very well), but they hadn't ever thought about her being affiliated with the Patron-Minette. Now that they consider it, though, it makes sense. Eponine never talks about her past, but everyone knows she comes from a shady background. It's definitely not inconceivable that she has gang ties. 

"Thank you for helping," they tell her simply. She looks suspicious for a minute, but finally she cracks a grudging little smile. 

"It's nothing."

"Cosette pointed something out," says Enjolras. "Claquesous cut my throat, so it's possible that he might have some of my blood. That means he could do some blood magic on me, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

A collective gasp goes through the room. Courfeyrac holds a hand to his heart.

"Oh, Enjolras, you don't think he would?"

"He might. Who knows what he's planning?"

"I think it's better to take all possible precautions," says Cosette. "In that case, we should figure out his plans as soon as possible and do what we can to circumvent them."

"But how can we, when we have no idea where to even start?" Courfeyrac comes over to the couch and pushes Combeferre aside so he can put Enjolras's head on his lap. He starts distractedly combing his fingers through the bright curls. "If we even had some idea of what magic they might cast, we could use some blood magic of our own and try to get ahead of them with a protection spell. But it could be anything, and they could hurt him badly, and it's so-- it's so--"

"Calm down, Courfeyrac," says Enjolras. "This is actually a good situation, because he can only hurt me. The rest of you are probably safe enough."

"That's _not_ good! We don't want you to be hurt either!"

"And neither do I, of course. But don't you see? This way, the house is safe. They're not going to be able to take us down."

Courfeyrac leans down and kisses Enjolras. He seems close to tears. "We'll protect you, I promise. These buggarts aren't going to hurt you, they're _not_. We'll give them the flip before they can touch you."

Enjolras reaches up and pats him on the cheek. "Thank you."

It's sweet, but Jehan is feeling jolts of energy running under their skin, jittery with the need to _do_ something. They begin to pick at their nails. 

"Enjolras, can't we make any sort of plan?"

"Yes." Enjolras sits up, catches a stern look from Combeferre, and reluctantly lies back down again. "Yes," he says again. "Here's what we'll do. Combeferre, Cosette, Musichetta, and Marius, you research blood magic, and try to figure out what the most common spells in use are. Then, try to figure out counters, or even better, preventive measures."

"All right," says Combeferre. "We'll start on that right away."

"Peaches. Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Bahorel, Eponine, you go out and try to get word on Patron-Minette from your connections. Be as unobtrusive as you can, but don't be afraid to mingle. Be yourselves."

"Yes sir," chorus Courfeyrac and Bossuet, while Bahorel clenches his fists and growls in enthusiastic assent and Eponine casually flicks her knife open and closed. 

"We can do that."

"Wonderful. Joly, Jehan, Montparnasse, Feuilly, you four should work on building defenses for the house, just in case. And Grantaire and I..."

"No," says Combeferre. "Enjolras, you're not going anywhere. You're going to sit there and rest for at least a day before going out to solve any crimes. All right?"

Enjolras pouts, but finally gives in. "As you wish."

"I'll still stay with you," says Grantaire. "Don't worry. I'm not going to leave your side."

The look Enjolras gives him at this is almost enough to turn Jehan's stomach. They're happy that the two of them are so in love, but they aren't exactly good at being subtle. They look down, wanting to avoid seeing any kissing. Hearing it is bad enough.

"Shall we get started?" asks Courfeyrac, cutting into the sappy moment. "I know for a fact that I don't want to wait any longer!"

"Yes!" As a body, everyone stands up, some stretching, others cracking their knuckles, and some (that is, Joly) jumping up and down in determination. Jehan gets up with them, but they don't follow Joly, Montparnasse, and Feuilly as they head to Feuilly's room to plan. Instead, they slip into the workshop by themself, Gorbeau fluttering behind them. This is something they have to do alone.

A few minutes later, Jehan is tiptoeing out of the house, wrapped up securely in dark clothes and carrying a bag over their shoulder. They aren't really sure where they're going, but they know it would be disastrous to ask any of their friends for help. That would put a stop to their mission before it could even begin. So, taking a deep breath and nodding to themself, they make tracks for the best font of information that there is-- the tavern.

\--

"The Patron-Minette? It's been a planet's year since they were taking breath." The woman next to Jehan slams her mug down on the counter. "Give us another, sugar-cake."

The barman pours out two more mugs of beer and slides them across the bar. Jehan, who hasn't finished their first mug yet, politely takes it and wraps their hands around it, then, realizing they look like a child with a cup of milk, drops their hands to their lap.

"Do you know anything about what they're doing now?" they ask.

The woman laughs. "Worm's dinner, I'd reckon. Sons of bitches like that don't put down easy, unless they're dead."

"But what happened? They used to be so powerful."

"Their leader went and turned his toes up in that high-house brawl five or so years back. They couldn't get along without him, so they folded. Why're you asking, anyway? You some kind of historian?"

"I heard rumors that they're back," says Jehan, not sure how much to reveal, but unwilling to outright lie. The woman scoffs.

"That'd be a whole jar of chutney. No, you probably got the toss-up from some noodle who wanted to picker you. Don't believe everything you hear, lambling."

"But I heard Claquesous attacked someone. Why would someone make up a rumor like that?"

"Just to stir the pot, likely." The woman drains her beer and gets to her feet. "Good luck, little one. You’ll need it.”

Jehan watches her go, feeling mildly discouraged. This is probably what everyone thinks, that the Patron-Minette died when Montparnasse did. They know it's not true, but without proof, they can't get anyone to believe them, and if no one believes them, they can't get any information on how to find the gang's hideout. They stare disconsolately down into their two mugs of beer, wishing life were like a novel, where all the information appeared easily and with no particular trouble on the part of the hero.

"I'll find them," they mumble to themself. "It might take me all night, but I'll find them."

They toss a few spare coins on the counter and turn out the door, ready to continue what promises to be a long and frustrating search.

Several hours later, they're ready to give up. No one seems to know anything, and no one believes them when they say that the Patron-Minette is back. By the tail of the night, people are even starting to laugh at them, probably thinking that they're drunk. They're tired and discouraged and ready to go home, but finally, turning away from one more fruitless effort, they feel a tap on their elbow.

"Did you say Patron-Minette?"

Jehan whirls around. "What?"

The speaker proves to be a little boy, about Gavroche's age, and freckled all over. He grins, dimpled, and tugs Jehan's sleeve.

"I can show you where they meet."

"You can?"

"Sure as sunshine."

"But what's in it for you?"

The boy looks meaningfully at Jehan until they finally realize what he wants, and reach into their bag to pull out some money. "Here," they say. "I'll give you the rest when you take me there."

The boy looks over the coins, whistles, and pockets them. "C'mon, then," he says. 

Jehan follows him out of the tavern, briefly wondering what a boy his age had been doing there in the first place, and down the twisting streets of what proves to be the metal-work district. Uneasily, they realize they've wandered much further from home than they'd expected, and now all that's between them and one of the roughest parts of the city is a sprightly, whistling child. It's not terribly encouraging. 

"Hey," they say, after passing yet another dark metallurgist's shop with its leering red windows, and feeling the uncomfortable frisson that comes only from being watched, "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Obviously," says the boy. "This is just a peach of a playground."

That's a grim thought, but Jehan isn't going to dwell on it. They're not going to dwell on anything, really, besides getting to the Patron-Minette hideout, letting themself in, getting their information, and leaving without being hurt in the process.

So, maybe that's practically impossible. But that doesn't mean they can't try.

The Patron-Minette hideout proves to be housed in the corner of a beat-down bar. Jehan is reminded of Les Amis de l'ABC's old days, meeting in the back of the local cafe because they couldn't yet afford a proper house.

"This is it?" they ask. 

The boy nods. "Pit-dump it sure is, but it's good enough for a gaggle. You going in?"

"I... yes."

"Then, you best give me that money now. No telling if you'll have a bit-piece to your name when you get out."

Jehan gives the boy the rest of the money, trying to persuade themself that this is really a good idea. All their senses are telling them to turn and run, and they know this would be the wise thing to do, but somehow, something sticks their feet to the ground. They clench their fist.

"Thank you for all your help."

"It's nothing." The boy pauses, and looks up with clear brown eyes. "Hey, if you ever get out of there with your skin on right, look me up. The name's Navet, and you can find me all-a-piece. Just ask around, everyone knows me."

Jehan has to smile, even through their fear. Somehow, they've earned this boy's respect, and that means more than he probably knows. They hold out a hand.

"I'm Jehan. And yes, thank you. I'll see you again."

"You're a brassy junk," says the boy admiringly. "All right, luck be to you. See you again!"

And with this, he takes off, leaving Jehan with a heart full of worry and legs that won't stop shaking. 

"All right," they whisper to themself. "I'm going to do this, and I'm going to do it well. This is for my friends."

They push open the scratched wood door, and step inside the bar, trying to pretend that they're just another metal-worker, unwinding after a long day of work. It's difficult to mimic the exact bow-back gait that comes from bending over a forge all day, but after watching some of the other bar patrons move around, they're pretty sure they can at least try a passable imitation. 

They step up to the bar and order a drink, subtly looking around for any groups of suspicious people who could be the Patron-Minette. The selection is wide in a place like this, but on their second pass of the room, they're arrested by a gravelly voice coming from the back corner.

"Boss said he's yarned in it, back-wall with some rotting curse-throwers. One of them's the one you took a tackle to?"

This must be them. Jehan can barely understand the dialect, but they listen closely anyway, trying to pick out key words. If they can remember everything, they can ask Montparnasse to translate for them. 

"Yeah, tasty little bit. Put the flip on him like a stone-drop."

"And you got his--"

"Shut your mouth. We're in the wagon, not that every pig and perch needs to know it."

They must be talking about blood magic. It's the only explanation. Blood magic is still rather taboo, especially in the non-academic community, so it's no wonder the Patron-Minette wouldn't want everyone to know they were planning on using it. Jehan inches closer.

"That'll gargle it. Did you get an ear from the boss?"

"No. Guess it, he's in some high-bone scutter."

"Rotting curse-throwers. I've a pretty picture to burn them out."

Jehan doesn't really want to know the implications of this. They're not sure they understand, but they think the Patron-Minette is assuming Montparnasse is being held at the Musain against his will. This, while somewhat true at the moment, means bad news for Les Amis de l'ABC if Patron-Minette decides to attack. They grip their hands together, wondering what to do. Should they stay and try to get more information? Should they run back immediately and warn the others?

"Babet, don't be a scupper," says the second man, who must be Claquesous, judging by his mask. "It's a half-chance to one that they're ready for a fling-down and they'd tap us next to easy. We have to take our heads with us if we want to get our wings out."

"You're a high drop devil," grumbles Babet. "Your head's in right, though. Give it that."

"Then what?" inquires the other figure, the hulking and silent one who hasn't said a word before this. "How do you put the flip on a sty like that?"

Jehan strains their ears. This could be the most important part of all. If they can get a basic summary of what the Patron-Minette is planning, their house will be that much more prepared to defend itself when the inevitable happens. 

But Claquesous shakes his head. "We'll deal later. Too many eyes around here." He swivels his head in Jehan's direction, staring seemingly directly through them. 

Jehan's heart clenches up. Frozen, they stay absolutely still on their stool, as if by doing so, they can become invisible. They can barely even breathe, too paralyzed by even the incidence of Claquesous's gaze. 

How long has he known they're here? Could he have been playing with them, purposefully revealing scraps of tantalizing information in order to taunt them, give them just enough to warn them of how dangerous the Patron-Minette is, but not enough to allow Les Amis de l'ABC to prepare themselves? It wouldn't seem outside the realm of possibility. 

In that case, there's only one thing to do. They have to follow the Patron-Minette. It's a daunting thought; each of these three men is a hardened murderer, and they probably will have no qualms about bumping off anyone who gets in their way.  But Jehan has no choice if they want to help their friends. 

They slump over the bar, pretending to be drunk, but looking out from under their eyelashes to track the Patron-Minette. This way, they can see what's going on, and be prepared to sneak out and follow the Patron-Minette when they leave. It's a little uncomfortable, but they're determined-- they're going to stay in this position all night if they have to.

Fortunately, it doesn't take that long. After a few more drinks and some vernacular-heavy smalltalk, Claquesous gets up, and Babet and the other man (Gueulemer, Jehan remembers now) copy him. They move to the door, not talking as much anymore, though Babet is telling what seems to be a rather crude joke. Jehan tenses, getting ready to follow. They slowly put one foot on the floor, toes curling in anticipation, watching for the moment the Patron-Minette walks out the door, ready, waiting...

...And then there's a hand on the small of their back, holding them in place, and a familiar silky-smooth voice asking low, "What do you think you're doing, Freckles?"

Jehan jerks up. "Mont--"

Montparnasse claps his hand over their mouth, cutting off the rest of his name. "Hush. Don't let them know I'm here." Jehan nods against his hand, showing that they understand, and he moves back to sit on the barstool beside them. "It was a job finding you, all right," he says.

"What are you doing here?" Jehan blurts, too astonished for finesse. They hadn't thought that anyone would be able to find them, even Montparnasse. Montparnasse smiles at them patiently. 

"I'm here to take you home."

"To take me home? But..."

"When Navet told me where you were, I knew I had to find you quicker than a beesting. This isn't a good place for you, darling."

"Navet told you where I was?"

"Came right to the house looking for Gavroche, found me instead. _That_ gave him a shock, but he told me everything anyway, told me to come fetch you, and off I went."

Jehan doesn't know whether to feel offended that Montparnasse doesn't trust them to take care of themself, or touched that he cared enough to come and find them. They decide it's a little of both.

"I would have been fine," they say, but without any heat in their voice. Montparnasse frowns.

"Do you see the man and woman by the door?"

Jehan looks, picks them out. "Sure."

"They were watching you when I came in. Ten bits to one, they'd've grabbed you as soon as you made a move."

"Really?"

"And see that man underneath the window?"

"Yes."

"He's got a knife in his hand, and he's ready to use it, maybe on you. And did you see the way Claquesous was watching you? Guess it, he knew you were here since you walked in the door."

Jehan feels slightly ill. They grasp weakly at Montparnasse's hand. "Am I really that clear of a target?"

"Everyone unusual here is a target," says Montparnasse. "This place has its own rules, and if you don't know it, you're as good as gone. It was brave of you to come here, it really was, but it was _unbelievably_ dangerous."

"So you came to save me?"

"Of course. I couldn't let you be hurt."

"Did you know the Patron-Minette was going to be here?"

"I had a good idea of it, yes."

"What would you do if they'd caught me before you came?"

"No question. I'd do whatever I had to in order to rescue you."

Jehan curls their fingers around Montparnasse's. "You really do love me," they whisper wonderingly. Montparnasse laughs under his breath.

"Freckles, if you didn't know that by now, I don't know what to tell you."

Jehan wants to kiss him, but they know this isn't the place for it, so they brush their thumb across the back of his hand, butterfly kisses instead. They raise their eyes to his, hoping he'll be able to read every emotion on their face.

"I love you that much, too."

It's only a few seconds, but it feels infinite, like time preserved in amber. Jehan looks into Montparnasse's eyes and sees forever in them, written in compassion and care and kindness and deep, true love. They carefully polish the moment and put it away into their treasure trove of memories, ready to keep it forever and ever, then, with a slight pressure on Montparnasse's wrist, they speak again.

"Should we leave?"

"We should." Montparnasse hops off the barstool, then reaches out and helps Jehan off theirs, too. "Come on, stay close to me."

As if Jehan needed to be told. They tuck their hand into Montparnasse's and clutch it tightly, an anchor-point to their only fortress in this wild place. Montparnasse looks down at their hands, then back at Jehan, and smiles, just a small quirk of his lips and a softening of his eyes, but enough to fill them with renewed courage.

"Lead the way," they say.

Thanks to Montparnasse, they make it back to the Musain without incident. It's a frightening journey, but Jehan can't help but feel safe, in good company as they are, and they trust that no danger will befall them. And they're right; nothing slows them down until they're back inside the house, taking off their shoes.

"Thank you," Jehan starts to say, wanting to make Montparnasse know how grateful they are for his help, but that's all they can get out before their friends descend on them, all shouting at once.

"Jehan, what were you thinking?"

"Do you know how _dangerous_ that was?"

"I can't believe you!"

"You didn't even ask anyone to go with you," says Enjolras. He looks wounded. "I would have gone, you know."

"Wouldn't that be the worst possible idea there is?"

"You could have taken someone who's not him," says Combeferre. "I'm sure any one of us would've been happy to go with you. You really worried us quite a bit.“

Jehan nods. "I understand. But this was something I felt better doing alone. Besides, you would've tried to stop me."

"Well, of course."

"So, see? This really was the best way to do it."

"What did you find out?" asks Cosette. Jehan has to admire how practical she is.

"Not much," they tell her. "Just that the Patron-Minette think Montparnasse is being held here against his will, and they plan on attacking us, probably to save him."

Montparnasse makes a small, strangled sound in his throat. Jehan turns to look at him, alarmed at this loss of composure.

"What is it?"

"I didn't know they thought that. We have to leave here, now."

"What? Why?"

"Because if they think I'm a prisoner, they're not going to stop at anything to get me out. Say what you will about us, but we're loyal to the bone."

"All right," says Enjolras. "I believe you, but what exactly are you suggesting? Do you want us to leave the Musain altogether?"

"I do. They're probably going to burn it to the ground."

"When?"

"I don't know. Sooner rather than later."

"You heard him." Enjolras turns to address everyone. "Gather your most precious things, and get ready to leave the house. We'll go to Mabeuf's for awhile and hide out there."

There's some grumbling, and some questioning whether or not this is really necessary, but in the end, everyone does go off to pack. They must all realize how serious the situation is. Enjolras, who doesn't have many treasured material possessions, follows Jehan to their room as they go to collect their things. 

"They saw you, didn't they," he says. 

How does he know? Jehan turns so their hair covers their face. "Yes. I think they knew I was there the whole time."

"Do you think their whole conversation could have been staged to scare you?"

"I don't think so," Jehan says cautiously. "I didn't get that feeling. Rather, it seemed as if they were willing to talk in front of me because they were so confident, they didn't care. It was almost like showing off."

Enjolras nods, accepting this. "Did they mention any specific details?"

"I'm not sure, because it was all in vernacular. But I don't think so."

"Hmm." Enjolras sinks down on the edge of Jehan's bed. He begins to swing his feet back and forth over the floor tiles. "I wonder if they're really going to attack. I trust Montparnasse, but something seems so strange about this."

"I think it's best just to let Montparnasse take the lead," Jehan says. "He's the one with the most experience in the matter, and surely he knows what to do."

"Yes, of course. I just wish I had more information."

"We'll figure it out." Jehan pats him on the shoulder. "Go, pack up some clothes and valuables. We can't have you losing all your things."

Enjolras gets up off the bed. He smiles at Jehan, a little tight around the edges, but genuine. "I'll do that. And you're right, we'll figure it out."

With this, he leaves, closing the door halfway on his way out. Jehan sighs and lowers their head to their hands as soon as he's gone, feeling much less optimistic than they'd let on. This is a terrible situation, one in which they and their friends have seemingly every disadvantage, and they don't see how they're going to come out of it easily. 

Once they've packed their most precious belongings, some clothes, and their spell notebooks, they head down to the common room, bag in hand. They're prepared to leave now, not that they really want to, but they trust Montparnasse's analysis of the situation. If he thinks the Patron-Minette will attack the house, they probably will.

Most of the others are there when Jehan comes in, sitting in tense silence. Only Grantaire is talking, which is typical, but even he seems less loquacious than usual. He also keeps tapping his fingers on Enjolras's knee, and Enjolras is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn't appear to notice. 

"Are we ready to go?" asks Jehan, wanting to break the stillness. Enjolras looks up slowly.

"We're still waiting for Joly and Cosette."

"Not anymore, you're not," comes Cosette's voice. She comes into the room, dragging a massive bag behind her. "We're ready to go anytime you are."

"Cosette," says Eponine. "Are you bringing the entire contents of your wardrobe?"

Cosette looks legitimately broken-hearted. "If only I could."

Jehan feels a pang in their heart. This is their fault. Their friends might lose their home, and it's all because they were vain enough to want to raise the dead without thinking of the consequences. If they'd never raised Montparnasse, none of this would be happening now. 

But then. If they'd never raised Montparnasse, they never would have had a chance to meet him. They never would have gotten to know him, never would have fallen in love. It's a little selfish, thinking this way, but it's also not, because they know everyone's lives have been enriched by knowing Montparnasse. They look across from them, seeing Enjolras talking quietly with him, and smile. Montparnasse is truly part of all their lives now. 

“Let’s go,” says Joly, having followed Cosette into the room. He has significantly less baggage than she does, but it’s more bulky. Knowing him, he probably cleaned out the house dispensary, wanting to bring all the medical supplies he could move. Jehan would laugh, but they know they and their friends might end up needing them, and that’s definitely a sobering thought. They stand up.

“Yes, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” says Enjolras. “We can’t all go at once.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing will attract attention like all of us moving out of the house at once. No, we need to stagger it. We’ll leave the house at different times, and arrive at Mabeuf’s at different times. If you know a safe place where you can spend a few hours, go there.”

Montparnasse nods approvingly. “That’s a good idea.”

“Thank you. I’m just trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Then, who’s going first?” asks Courfeyrac. “Maybe the better fighters should wait until last?”

“That’s smart,” says Enjolras. “However, I think we should mix it up a bit, since I don’t want one group to be significantly weaker than the other. All right, we’ll do it in this order. Joly, Musichetta, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Montparnasse, Bossuet, and Bahorel, you’ll leave, making sure not to be seen together, and arrive at Mabeuf’s in an order that you can decide. After you, Eponine, Gavroche, Azelma, Cosette, Grantaire, Combeferre, Marius, and Feuilly will go. Does that sound all right?”

“What group will you be in?” asks Combeferre.

“Neither. I’m the leader. I’ll stay here and explain things to them.”

“What? Enjolras…”

“They’ll kill you,” says Montparnasse heavily. “Enjolras, you can’t do this.”

“If I go with you all, there’s more risk for you. Remember, they attacked me, but not Jehan, even though they had the chance. They must want me.”

“That’s no reason to give yourself up!”

“I’m not giving myself up. I’ll explain everything to them, and then…”

“They won’t believe you.” Montparnasse grasps Enjolras’s hand in his own, looking fervently into his eyes. “Please, please believe me, you can’t do this. Just stay with Grantaire or me. We’ll look out for you and make sure nothing happens to you again.”

Enjolras huffs, evidently seeing that everyone’s against him. “As you wish, then. But I won’t go with you. I’ll leave the house last, just to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” says Combeferre, and Courfeyrac nods along.

“Me too.”

“Good.” Montparnasse smiles at them both. “Take care of him, please.”

“We will.”

“Then” says Enjolras authoritatively, though he doesn’t exactly look pleased at being taken care of, “Let’s go.”

It’s not hard to get to Mabeuf’s. Per Enjolras’s instructions, the group had split up, deciding to arrive separately. Jehan had been nominated to take the first shift, along with Montparnasse, and truth to be told, they don’t mind this at all. They’re exhausted from running all over the city.

Gorbeau had already been sent ahead to carry a message to Mabeuf, so when Jehan and Montparnasse arrive, he opens his doors and his arms wide, drawing them inside with the kindest smile. 

“Welcome, my children! Come, sit down."

Jehan and Montparnasse kneel down onto the cushions around Mabeuf's low, flat table. He might not be able to afford much in the way of decorations for his house, but he certainly does have a lot of cushions, and they're all good quality. Jehan has always thought he keeps them for them and their friends, since they visit him so often. 

Mabeuf, seeing that they're comfortable, begins to flutter around them. "Is there anything I can get you? Would you like some refreshments?”

“I would love some,” says Montparnasse. Jehan gives him a horrified look as Mabeuf bustles away.

“Montparnasse, that’s probably the only food he owns right now. He’s horrifically poor.”

Montparnasse shrugs. “Well, what was I supposed to do? It would have been bad manners to refuse his hospitality.”

“What? No, it wouldn’t!”

Montparnasse looks at them askance. “Really?”

Belatedly, Jehan remembers that Montparnasse didn’t grow up in the same social circles as they did. Although it seems strange to them, it’s clear now that he’s trying his hardest to be polite to Mabeuf in the best way that he knows. It’s really endearing. Jehan feels a rush of love come over them.

“You’re wonderful, you know that?”

Montparnasse looks bewildered. “What?”

Jehan is spared explaining their thought process, as Mabeuf comes over with a tray and sets it on the table. There’s not much on it, just a few crackers and some tea, but Montparnasse smiles, wide.

“Sir, a feast in your home is a king’s portion.”

Much to Jehan’s surprise, Mabeuf’s weathered face lights up. “And a king couldn’t ask for better company,” he says, almost cautiously.

Montparnasse takes one of the crackers and breaks it in half. He sets one half on each end of the tray, then folds his hands in his lap.

“Your house is then our palace.”

At this, Mabeuf makes what could only be described as a squeal. He gets up and runs over to Montparnasse, throwing his arms around him. “My dear boy,” he says. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve spoken with someone who knows the old ways? I haven’t said the guest’s exchange in years. Years!”

Montparnasse pats Mabeuf on the back, a little awkwardly, but kindly. “It’s my pleasure to meet you then, sir,” he says.

Finally, Mabeuf lets go of him and goes to kneel down on his own sparse straw mat. He looks more emotional than Jehan has ever seen. With trembling hands, he takes the two halves of the crackers and joins them together on the tray once again, and at this, Montparnasse laughs.

“Most people forget that part.”

Mabeuf looks up. His eyes are bright, though whether with emotion or tears, Jehan couldn’t say. “Do you mean that there are places in which the old ways have not been forgotten?”

“They aren’t the old ways where I come from,” says Montparnasse. “Don’t worry, sir, in the places I know best, tradition remains alive and well.”

“It’s been so long,” Mabeuf says again. “Tell me, my boy, what places are these?”

“Not any places that you would like to go, sir. But wonderful places all the same.”

“Tell me.”

Montparnasse takes the teapot. “May I?”

“Please.”

“I grew up in the mining district,” says Montparnasse, pouring out three cups of tea. “Surely you have heard of our reputation.”

“I have.”

“Then you know we have our own rules, and we live by them fiercely. But what you may not know is that these rules are born of tradition. Tradition that you yourself know well.”

Mabeuf sips at his tea. “You walk in the old ways, then?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“We follow the old traditions, yes. And we do so most assiduously. But our ways are new; that is, we forge new paths as we go, create new traditions. Our culture, our society, is a living, breathing thing, which was born of the past, shaped by the present, and charged towards the future. We do not remain static. Instead, we create new ways of being, influenced, shaped, yes. But wholly ours.”

“I see that one of the traditions you have inherited is the tongue,” says Mabeuf. “You speak well, my boy.”

Montparnasse smiles. “It has helped me throughout my life.”

Finally, Mabeuf sees Jehan watching them, confused at everything that’s going on. “Are you perplexed, my child?” he asks gently. 

Jehan wants to deny it, but they _are_ confused by this sudden friendliness between Montparnasse and Mabeuf, so they nod, feeling rather foolish. “Am I to understand that I am used to quite a different world than you?”

"You are, but that is nothing to be ashamed of," says Mabeuf. "You have learned nothing but the new ways, and you live in them, and are striving towards the future in the best way you know how. That can be nothing but a good thing."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, my child. Progress is beautiful, even if it's a little hard for me to understand sometimes."

Jehan picks up their cup of tea and sips at it, thinking. The difference between their world and Montparnasse's has always been glaringly obvious, but never so much as in the small things, like now. It's strange to think that there's so much disparity in how they live, and have always lived, and what Montparnasse is used to. They may be together now, but in terms of their experiences, they couldn't be further apart. 

"Will you tell us more about your life?" they ask. Montparnasse peers at them over the rim of his teacup.

"Pardon?"

"Stories, I mean. What it was like growing up, what you did, what your favorite memories are, anything."

"Oh." Montparnasse laughs, a little self-consciously. "Do you both really want to hear that?"

"I would love to," says Mabeuf. Montparnasse absentmindedly breaks a cracker between his slender fingers.

"I mean... it's not like I had an idyllic childhood."

"If you don't mind telling us, it would be wonderful to hear," Jehan tells him earnestly, and they mean it. They want to hear everything about Montparnasse, learn who he is from the very beginning. 

"I don't mind," Montparnasse says, and pauses. Jehan isn't sure he's going to begin speaking again, but finally he does, somewhat slow and subdued. "Well, let's see. I grew up in the mining district, as I told you, and... it wasn't a good place for children. I know that now. But I didn't know it then. The other children and I never had any schooling or anyone to watch over us, so we would play outside all day, and to this day, I've never been as carefree as I was then, running along the streets, playing our games."

"What games?" asks Jehan.

"We had this game where we would collect scraps, light them up, and jump over the fires." Montparnasse's voice has lost its hesitation, and taken on a warmer, brighter tone. He sounds younger, too, as if just talking about his childhood has sent him back a few years. "I know it sounds dangerous, and it probably was, but the thrill of flying over those fire-piles... that's something I remember to this day. The sparks would shoot up around you, and you could feel the heat under you as you went, and for a second, just a split second, you would think you wouldn't make it, but then you were past the middle of the fire, and you knew you were safe, so all that was left was a quarter-second of pure bliss, sailing over the flames like a phoenix."

"It sounds wonderful," says Jehan. Montparnasse laughs.

"It was. I think we were all addicted to thrills back then."

"What else did you do?"

"Sometimes, we would go diving in the old quarries. It was even more dangerous than fire jumping, and I know now that we could very well have died, but I don't know anyone who did. And it was beautiful. That moment just before you hit the water-- what could compare to that, except maybe sinking down into the cold deepness, feeling the bubbles all around you, trying to open your eyes and see the dark blue and green, maybe grazing your foot against a rock, but not caring because the cold of the water took the sting away. And then breaking up into the surface again, breaching with a spray of bubbles and gasping for breath, icy-cold and glowing, and swimming back to the edge, ready to climb up and do it all over again. Yes, that was perfect.”

Jehan's eyes have close to fallen shut; they're lulled almost into a dream-state in listening to Montparnasse talk. Now, they open them again. 

"Mabeuf is right. You really do speak well."

"We practiced that, growing up, too," says Montparnasse, sounding a little proud of himself. "We would all sit around in the evenings, even the adults, and we would tell stories. We learned how to do it, almost like you would learn how to write in school."

"That's amazing. Will you tell us a story?"

"You want to hear?"

"I do."

"Then listen, and you might even learn a piece."

Jehan is a little taken aback, but Mabeuf nods approvingly. "The old way of starting a story."

" _This is a story about a girl who lived a long, long time ago,_ " begins Montparnasse without any further ado. " _Back in the days of yore, when monsters roamed the streets, there lived a young girl named Filé. She was beautiful and kind, and she had a magic necklace. It was lovely, made of gold and silver and precious stones, and it had been hers as long as she could remember. Not only was it lovely, though; it was also magic, as I've said. While she was wearing it, nothing could hurt her, not knives, nor arrows, nor the claws of monsters. It protected her like a mother, keeping her from all harm._

_Now, as fate had happened, Filé was all alone in the world. She had no one but the necklace to keep her company, and though gold and silver and jewels are very beautiful, they don't make for very good companions. Although Filé was protected by her necklace, she was terribly lonely. She wished every day that she could do something to put her in connection with her world._

_Now, as it happened, Filé lived in a very dark time. There were monsters, of course, and demons, and darkness, and when Filé was 26 years old, there came a plague that threatened to kill all of mankind. Filé was all right, because the necklace kept her safe. But everyone around her was hurting badly, and suffering, and dying, and it huts Filé’s kind heart to see them. She tried to help all she could, but eventually, there came a time when she knew there was nothing more she could do._

_Nothing, that is, but journey to find the star witch, the most powerful witch in the realm. She lived far away, on top of a mountain surrounded by ice and fire. Filé was afraid, but she knew this was what she had to do, so with her heart in her throat, she began her journey._

_Blessings must have been smiling upon her, because she reached the star witch's castle without too much difficulty. Her necklace protected her from harm, so all she had to worry about was persuading the star witch to help her._

_Now, the star witch, although she was a hermit, was a kindly old soul, and it was hurting her heart to see the world in such dire straits. So when Filé came to her door, asking for help, she could do nothing but agree._

_"You have been gifted with a magic necklace," she said. "This is the key to helping the world."_

_"But how?" asked Filé. "It can help only me!"_

_"That's not quite true." The star witch pointed to a celestial map on her wall. "You see, the world lives under the stars, and wears them above it, just as you wear your necklace. Thus, the solution is simple: you must set your necklace among the stars so that its protection will fall upon the earth."_

_"Then that's what I will do," said Filé._

_The star witch showed her a magical staircase which would allow her to climb up to the stars and set her necklace among them. Filé knew that this was the last journey she would ever make, but she was calm, prepared to give everything to save the world from harm._

_So, bravely, Filé climbed up to the stars. The journey was long, so long that by the time she reached the sky, Filé had become an old, old woman. And yet, in the earth's time, only a few minutes had passed. Such is the strangeness of the stars._

_When Filé reached the top of the sky, she saw no place for her necklace. However, she did see a large spot, just made for a person to be. She nodded to herself, having expected this, and stepped into the sky. She would hold her necklace above the earth for all eternity._

_But when Filé stepped into the sky, a strange transformation began. No longer was she a woman; she was now fire and light and all the mystery and beauty of the cosmos. Filé had become a star._

_The other stars twinkled at her, greeting her, and she twinkled back, happier than she had ever been. Now, she was no longer alone. She stretched out her beams and held up the necklace over the earth. No longer would it be so plagued; her protection would extend to the furthest corners._

_And so, knowing that she had done what she needed to do, Filé smiled. Eternity now seemed beautiful."_

There's a little silence after Montparnasse finished his story, both Mabeuf and Jehan just absorbing the beauty of his words. Then, Mabeuf claps his hands together.

"Oh, wonderful! Wonderful!"

"It really was," says Jehan, having finally found their voice. "Montparnasse, that was a beautiful story. Did you make it up?"

Montparnasse laughs. "I wish. No, that was a tale that we told the younger children-- Filé and the Magic Necklace. It always entertained them for a bit."

"I remember it from my own childhood," says Mabeuf. "And you told it so well, my son. I almost felt as if I were back in the old days again."

Montparnasse preens, looking pleased with himself. "I do love to tell stories."

"Will you tell us another?" asks Jehan, wanting to be lost in that spell again. Montparnasse smiles ingenuously.

"You'd like to hear?"

"Of course I would!"

So Montparnasse begins another tale, a sweet, hilarious one that leaves Jehan and Mabeuf rocking with laughter. It's almost enough to make Jehan forget their troubles for a little while.

As the three of them continue to talk, the rest of Jehan's friends begin to filter in. It takes hours for them all to arrive, but no one seems to mind, especially not Mabeuf. There's a light in his eyes that Jehan has seldom seen, illuminating his wizened face and making his smiles glow like a young boy's. Jehan makes up their mind to go and visit him more often after this. 

It's getting close to dawn, and almost everyone has arrived. Only Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras are absent. Grantaire is starting to fret, pacing around the room like a storm cloud. 

"Where could they be?" he keeps asking. "Did something happen? Did the Patron-Minette attack?"

"Please be calm," Mabeuf says. "Little Enjolras is stronger than he seems. There is no way that something could have happened to them."

"But he's hurt," Montparnasse protests. Feuilly shakes their head.

"It doesn't matter. He's so strong and brave, and he'll definitely get out of this."

"I'm more worried about Courfeyrac," says Cosette. "You know he's not the best fighter, and he's so likely to be overcome by emotion, so I don't want to think about what might have happened to him."

Jehan doesn't know what to say. They're worried about all their friends, and despite Feuilly and Mabeuf's assurances, they can't help but think that something awful must have happened. Yes, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre are strong, but the Patron-Minette is truly frightening. It doesn't seem impossible that the worst could have transpired. 

Their fears are realized only a few minutes later, when there's a knock on the door, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre stumble in, bruised and bleeding, with no Enjolras in sight. Immediately, Cosette rushes to help them inside. 

"What happened? Are you all right? Where's Enjolras?"

"They've taken him," says Combeferre heavily, and sinks down on the floor beside Feuilly. "I-- we couldn't stop them. They took him, and now-- now--" 

"Hush," says Feuilly, as Combeferre begins to sob. They rub eir back soothingly, although their face is dark. "Did they hurt him? Can you tell us what happened?"

"It was awful," says Courfeyrac, seeing that Combeferre is beyond words. "We were making ready to leave the Musain, when they came, just walked right into the house. We tried to fight them, but they were too strong. They put the dark on me and Combeferre, and when we woke up, Enjolras was gone."

"So they've taken him," says Montparnasse into the stillness that greets Courfeyrac's report. He clenches his fist on his knee. "I'm going after him."

"Isn't that what they want?" asks Cosette. Montparnasse's face doesn't change.

"I don't care if it is. I can't let them hurt Enjolras."

"He's already been hurt," puts in Courfeyrac. "We didn't see that much before we lost consciousness, but I know they didn't treat him kindly."

"Then, that's all the more reason to go after him, isn't it?" Montparnasse starts pacing back and forth across the small room, scowling deeply. "My friends aren't... patient. I don't want to think about what they might do to someone like Enjolras."

"We have to do something," mutters Combeferre, seemingly to emself. Ey looks around the room with wild eyes. "Montparnasse, please. Please go fetch him before they can hurt him too badly."

"I will."

"Is this a good idea?" asks Feuilly. "We trust you, Montparnasse, but how could we ask you to go in there alone? One or more of us should go with you."

Montparnasse doesn't seem to hear them. He continues pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth. It almost makes Jehan dizzy to watch him. 

"What might they do?" they ask him. "Do you think they would try to keep you there if you went?"

"Undoubtedly." Montparnasse's voice is bitter. "They must want to facilitate a hostage exchange. Trust me, you won't get Enjolras back unless I go to them."

Jehan clenches their fists. "Surely there has to be another way."

"There's not."

"I won't accept this." Jehan looks around at all their friends, pleading. "Surely none of you are considering agreeing with this plan. How could we trade one friend for another?"

"It's not like that," says Montparnasse. Jehan looks back at him. 

"What do you mean?"

"I won't stay with them. I can't. My loyalty is to this house now. But I need to go and rescue Enjolras. I will go, and I will save him, and then I will fight my way free and come back to you."

"How? There's three of them, and all of them are strong."

"Four. Guess it, Brujon has taken my place by now."

"That's even worse! How do you expect to take on all four of them?"

"With magic." Montparnasse waves his hand, and a tiny spark comes out, flash-magic. "Even if I weren't the best fighter in the group, I now have something they don't, something that will help me fetch Enjolras and take my leave without any harm coming to either of us. Don't worry, Jehan. It will be fine."

Jehan sighs. They want to trust Montparnasse, but the odds seem to be so stacked against him. Even with magic, how can he hope to defeat his old gang, all the while protecting a likely-helpless Enjolras? It doesn't seem possible. 

And yet, they can't help feeling that if anyone is capable of performing such a feat, it's Montparnasse. They aren't sure what to think, but somehow, they can't imagine him failing, even in such a difficult time. They're afraid of that, yes, and they're afraid of him being hurt, but when they shut their eyes, all they can see is both Montparnasse and Enjolras home, safe and sound.

Is this what trust is? They wouldn't know, not having been overwhelmed by it in the past. But, it seems to them that they must have a certain measure of confidence in Montparnasse, if this is the case, and if this is so, they have to help speed him on his way.

"I think we should let him go," they hear themself saying. The others, including Montparnasse, all look at them.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. He's the one who knows the most about the Patron-Minette, so he's the most likely to be able to help Enjolras. And he's right; he knows magic now, and that should help him, too."

"You're not wrong," says Courfeyrac slowly. "But Jehan, think of it. They could overpower him, and then they'd have both him and Enjolras. I don't know if we should risk it."

"I'll be fine," protests Montparnasse, but Feuilly shakes their head.

"It's not that we don't believe in you, but these people put the dark on _Enjolras_. How are we supposed to defeat them?"

"I won't try to defeat them. I'll just get Enjolras and leave."

"Oh." Feuilly scratches their chin. "Combeferre, Courfeyrac, what do you think? I can't help but worry about this plan."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac, de facto leaders in Enjolras's absence, begin to commune with each other. As they do, Jehan goes over to Montparnasse.

"Do you really want to do this?"

"Do you think I shouldn't?"

Again, Jehan searches their soul. There's doubt, yes, because they don't think they're capable of not doubting something so risky. But there's also belief, real and true, and that's something they can't deny.

"I think you should do whatever your heart tells you," they say. Montparnasse raises an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I want to go."

"Then," says Jehan, tamping down their fear, "You should go."

Montparnasse takes their hands in his. His palms are ice-cold, and he's trembling a bit, and suddenly Jehan knows that despite his bravado, he's scared. They step up close to him and press a kiss to his cheek.

"You can do this. You'll save Enjolras, and you'll come back to us. To me."

"But then what?" Montparnasse squeezes Jehan's hands, as if looking for grounding. "Jehan, I don't even know what to think anymore. These people are my _friends_. How can I go against them like this?"

It's hard not to feel a stab of jealousy at these words. Jehan doesn't like it, but they can't help feeling as if they and their friends should come first, and that the Patron-Minette shouldn't even be a consideration. _It's_ us _who deserve your regard_ , they want to say. _Does it matter if you go against the Patron-Minette? They're not your real friends. We are._

But as soon as they think it, they mentally chide themself for such a petty thought. Of course Montparnasse is loyal to his old friends, and of course he feels conflicted now. It may be difficult for Jehan to accept, but it must be much worse for Montparnasse. Making a choice like this can't be easy. 

"I'm sorry," they say. "I know it must be hard for you."

"It shouldn't be," says Montparnasse, and he sounds almost like a young boy, frightened and vulnerable. "I'm so sorry, Jehan. Of course I'll save Enjolras. But after that, I don't know what to do."

It takes all of Jehan's willpower to not respond immediately with something quick and sharp; to bite the inside of their lip, take a deep breath, and wait for the worst of the sourness to pass before they speak. Montparnasse deserves their regard, and all their consideration. 

"It must be difficult," they say at last. "Please, just remember that no matter what happens, you always have a home with us."

"Even after all of this?"

"Yes. I promise."

Montparnasse turns his head away. For a second, Jehan is worried, but then they realize that he's overcome with emotion, and he's trying hard to get a hold of himself before he can speak. They rub their thumb over the back of his hand, not trying to talk to him, just providing physical assurance that they're here.

"I'm going to go," Montparnasse says finally. "I want to trust my friends, but the truth is, they're going to hurt Enjolras if they haven't already, and the longer we wait, the more danger he's in. I need to go and save him now."

"All right." Jehan brings his hands up to their lips and kisses them, letting their lips linger a little longer than necessary. "Please be careful, and please... come back soon."

"I will." Montparnasse tries to smile. It looks somewhat convincing. "Wait for me, all right? I'll come back to you."

"I'll be waiting."

Montparnasse steps away from Jehan (they have to suppress a frown when his hands fall from theirs) and turns to address the room. 

"I don't know what you've all decided, and I don't know what you think might happen when I go to rescue Enjolras, but no matter what, I have to do it. I can't let my friends hurt him any more than they already have. I'm going, and going alone."

Courfeyrac gasps. "Montparnasse, you can't, not alone!"

"I have to. I'm the only one who can stop this."

"But surely you could bring someone with you! Any of us would be willing to go. Wouldn't we?" Courfeyrac looks around the room. "We can't let him do this alone, friends!"

"We have to." Everyone turns to look at Jehan as they speak, and they almost lose their courage, but this is important, so they gather their courage and press on. "We have to let him do this," they say again. "He's right. No one knows the Patron-Minette like he does, and no would will be able to persuade them in the same way. He's the only one who can save Enjolras now, and we have to let him do it."

"But it's dangerous," protests Courfeyrac.

"I know." Montparnasse crosses the room and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern, my friend, I really do. And if I could, I would gladly take your help, as you offer it so freely. But this is something that I must do alone, for all your sakes as well as Enjolras's."

Courfeyrac doesn't look convinced. "Why?"

"Because I know my friends. If any of you appeared with me, they would take it as a declaration of war, and we would have a battle on our hands. But if I come alone, they may-- _may_ \-- be willing to negotiate."

"You don't sound very sure," says Combeferre. Montparnasse shrugs.

"I'm not. I don't know what might happen, to tell you the truth. All I can do is hope for a good outcome."

"But..."

"How about this," says Montparnasse, and his tone is so firm that everyone immediately settles down to listen. "I'll go and fetch Enjolras, but if I'm not back by a set time, you can come and rescue us both. How about that?"

"I like it," says Jehan immediately. Any failsafe that they can put in place does much to ease their mind. Combeferre and Courfeyrac look at each other, then at Jehan, and then finally at everyone else in the room.

"I have no complaints," says Combeferre cautiously. 

"Good." Montparnasse smiles, clearly hiding his nerves under a veneer of cockiness, and salutes to the world at large. "Well, I'll be going, then. If I'm not back within five hours, come after me."

Five hours seems too long; Jehan knows that all sorts of things could happen in such a time span. However, they aren't really disposed to argue, especially with time so important now, so they nod and speak for all their friends.

"We will, if it comes to it. But I hope it won't."

"I'll do my best."

Montparnasse smiles at them all once more, and then, with a swish of his hips, sweeps out the door.

"Five hours," says Courfeyrac, echoing Jehan's-- and probably everyone's-- thoughts. He sinks down to the floor. "What are we going to do for five hours?"

"Sleep." Joly picks up his bag and begins to take various items out of it. "Friends, we've all stayed up through the night, and we're exhausted. I'm going to do a minor sleep spell that I've been working on, and we'll sleep for four hours and wake up refreshed. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, that's a good idea," says Cosette, and some of the others nod, but Jehan can't agree, not now.

"I can't sleep like this," they say. "How can I, when Montparnasse is out risking his life, and Enjolras is trapped and hurt? It's not right."

"What wouldn't be right would be you charging into a hostage situation exhausted," says Joly tartly. "You want to help Enjolras and Montparnasse, don't you?"

"Of course."

"So you need rest. Otherwise, you won't be able to do your best if the time comes for it."

"But..."

"He's right," says Combeferre. Jehan is about to argue with em, but then they see how gray eir face is, and how ey's sitting slumped over, like it's too much effort to hold emself upright. The poor thing-- ey's Enjolras's best friend, and it must be truly harrowing for em to be experiencing this. Jehan softens their expression a little bit.

"Do you think so?"

"I do. We might need to go in and rescue Enjolras and Montparnasse, and we can't do that if we're all sleep-deprived. And we won't be doing anything but worrying for these five hours anyway, so we may as well be productive and get some rest."

"But what if Montparnasse comes back during that time?"

"Then he can wait for us to wake up. We're safe here."

"You are," speaks up Mabeuf. "I have every protection spell I know outside, and no one can get inside without an invitation. They just can't. So don't worry; if Montparnasse comes, I'll let him in, and no one else will be able to follow."

"That's an interesting twist to a port spell," says Combeferre, erudite even in the direst times. "How did you do it?"

"I'd be happy to explain later," Mabeuf tells em. "For now, though, you should listen to your healer. I've found that's always a good idea."

Joly snaps his fingers in what he probably thinks is a sassy gesture. "You heard the man."

Jehan doesn't have any more arguments aside from their lingering sense of unease, so they finally bow their head and consent to take Joly's sleep spell. Mabeuf is right, after all; no one should argue with a healer if they know what's good for them. 

Joly smiles happily, and casts his spell, leaving everyone in the room aside from Mabeuf sinking quietly down onto the pillows, eyes falling shut. Somewhat unhappily, but now willingly, Jehan allows the energy to course through them, bringing them into a world of quiet, dreamless rest.

They wake four hours later to a dark room. Mabeuf is kneeling at the table, reading a book under the light of a worn-down candle. He nods pleasantly when he sees that Jehan is awake.

"Good morning."

"I suppose it _is_ proper morning now, isn't it." Jehan yawns and stretches, sitting up from their cushion. "Did you do a burst to keep the room dark?"

Mabeuf looks mildly surprised. "Ah, no. I just forgot to open the curtains."

Jehan laughs, and stands. They go over to the heavy night-drapes and pull them open, allowing the early morning sunlight to flood the room. It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny, with a feather's touch of wind sweeping the cloudless sky, and somehow, despite everything, they can't help but feel a little more optimistic.

"Give me nothing but a sweet summer's day," says Mabeuf, perhaps sensing their mood, and when Jehan makes a noise of recognition, he begins to recite the rest of the poem. Before he can get very far, though, there's a sneeze from the corner cushions, and Joly stirs.

"Mm, it's bright."

"It is that," agrees Jehan. "Thank you for making me take that sleep spell. I feel better now."

"Good." Joly rolls over, kisses Musichetta on the cheek, and sits up. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning."

By now, everyone else is beginning to wake up. There's various sounds of grumbling and mumbling, and in Grantaire's case, cursing, until finally, all of Jehan's friends are sitting up, awake and refreshed. Joly's sleep spell seems to have done its work.

"How long were we asleep?" asks Courfeyrac.

"I don't know, truthfully," Mabeuf tells him. "I was reading, and I became rather invested, so much so that I felt as if no time had passed when you all woke up. But I imagine that Joly's estimate was right, and you were all asleep for four hours."

"Then Montparnasse should be back soon," says Jehan. Combeferre clears eir throat.

"Yes, or else..."

"No, he'll be back." Jehan nods, trying to assure themself as much as Combeferre. "Just wait and see. He can do this."

"I hope so."

Everyone lapses into silence after this, probably thinking about the possibilities afoot. Either Montparnasse will return with Enjolras, safe as a bird in a nest, or he won't. And if he doesn't, then... well. Something will have to be done.

But no. Jehan pinches the thin stretch of skin between their thumb and their forefinger, pulling themself out of their dark thoughts. _Have faith_.

It's hard to wait, though, despite their constant reassurances to themself, and before too long, they find themself pacing around the room, from the window, to the door, then back to the table, and to the window again. The others shift in irritation every time they brush by them, but they're too tightly wound to stop.

What if Montparnasse fails to get Enjolras? The Patron-Minette is his old gang, and no doubt they know of his weaknesses. Montparnasse could be badly hurt, and no one would be able to help him, with Enjolras weak and wounded and the others all so far away. He would have no recourse, not until Jehan could persuade the others to go to him, and by then, it might be too late.

Or, and this is the possibility that seems more likely, what if Montparnasse decides to stay with the Patron-Minette and leave Les Amis de l'ABC forever? Jehan swallows a lump in their throat. That could very well happen. Montparnasse's new loyalties might pale in comparison with his old ones, and he could be persuaded to leave his changed self behind to become once again the man he was during his first life. And it wouldn't be wrong, really. He has every right to stay with his old friends, even if he doesn't necessarily agree with their lifestyle anymore.

Or does he? No-- it couldn't be that he would abandon his new appreciation for goodness so easily. He's changed now, for the better, and, Jehan tells themself firmly, for good. They have to trust him. He's not going to give into the darkness.

Still, their chest feels heavy as they continue to stalk around the room, pushing aside the thoughts that pile up and threaten to overwhelm them. Even faith can't keep nerves away completely. They continue to walk, brooding, until an annoyed Courfeyrac tells them to sit down and stop rustling all over the place, and reluctantly, not wanting to stop, but unwilling to make everyone's mental state worse, they do. 

There's half an hour to go by now, and even Mabeuf is getting testy. Jehan is considering leaving early to check on Montparnasse, and they're thinking of the best way to persuade the others to do so, when there's a sound outside, and Mabeuf flies over to the door.

"He's here."

Jehan leaps up as Mabeuf opens the door and waves Montparnasse in. They dash to the entryway. 

"Montparnasse?"

Wearily, Montparnasse raises his head and looks at them. Though he looks exhausted, there's not a scratch on him, and he's holding Enjolras in his arms. 

"Freckles," he says.

Jehan can't control themself. They crowd up against him and kiss him. It's more of a light peck than anything, and it's innocent and sweet, but Montparnasse sighs and smiles into it as if it were ten times more passionate.

"I missed you."

"I'm so glad you're back," Jehan whispers. 

"I told you I would be."

"I know, and I believed you. But it's wonderful to actually see you."

Any further words they might have are cut off as Grantaire, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac come rushing over like a herd of wild horses, all shouting Enjolras's name. They nearly knock Jehan and Montparnasse over in their hurry to get to him.

"Angel," hollers Grantaire. "Come here, let me see you!"

"He can't _come here_ , he's unconscious," says Montparnasse. Grantaire reaches out to touch him.

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know."

"What do you _mean_ you don't know?"

"My magic isn't good enough to examine him. We should get him to a professional."

Combeferre hoists Enjolras up out of Montparnasse's arms and settles his limp body against eir chest. "C'mere, sweetheart. That's right, I have you. Come on, then, let's help you lie down." Lifting eir head, ey say, "Mabeuf is a professional. He could help."

"Right." Jehan smiles at a stunned Montparnasse. "Mabeuf doesn't work much, but he used to be a counselor, just like Combeferre. He knows all there is to know about magic."

"I don't think that's quite true," comes Mabeuf's mild voice. He smiles at Montparnasse. "I'm glad to see you back, my boy."

"Mabeuf, can you check Enjolras?" asks Combeferre, holding him out as if wanting him to be checked right here. Mabeuf nods.

"Come, let's lay him down, and I'll see what I can do."

Combeferre takes Enjolras into the main room and lays him down on the softest cushions that Grantaire finds for him. Ey brushes his curls back from his face where they'd been tangled up, and having done so, continues to stroke his wan little face. All the while, ey's murmuring assurances that the poor boy can't hope to hear. 

"It's all right, dear one. We're not going to let any harm come to you now. Rest well, and when you wake, you'll be perfectly safe."

"How long has he been unconscious?" asks Mabeuf to Montparnasse. Montparnasse shrugs. 

"Several hours at least. He was out when I got there."

"Did they hurt him much?"

"I'm not sure, but I know he hurt _them_. Little wildcat-- apparently he nearly clawed Gueulemer's face off."

"Really?" Combeferre sounds proud. Ey kisses Enjolras on the cheek. "Good job, love."

"It doesn't look as if they've done anything too terrible to him," says Mabeuf, looking over his prone body. "Although that's just externally, of course. They could have cast all sorts of spells on him that would have effects we can't necessarily see."

"How would they do that?" Joly wants to know. "I thought these people didn't have magic."

"They don't, but they're always hiring out," says Montparnasse. "I'm sure you've done work for people who need your skills, right?"

"Right." Joly frowns, upset. "And so if they decided to do blood magic..."

"Let's not think about that until we have to," says Mabeuf. He shoos away Grantaire and Combeferre, who keep gathering around Enjolras's side like curious cats. "Please, children. A little space?"

Grantaire and Combeferre sit back on their heels, though they crane their necks to watch. "What are you doing?" Grantaire wants to know.

"I'm going to check and see if there are any spells on him," says Mabeuf. "After that, I'll look for... other things."

Other things meaning blood magic, of course. Jehan shivers. They don't know what they would do if Enjolras was in serious danger like that. 

Mabeuf begins his examination while the others watch with bated breath. It takes longer than Joly's examinations do, maybe because he's unbelievably thorough, but finally he sits back. 

"There are no spells on him," he announces. Everyone sighs in relief, but Mabeuf isn't done. He goes on, looking somber. "Unfortunately, I have to tell you, there is evidence of blood magic."

"No," gasps Grantaire. He pushes Mabeuf aside so he can take Enjolras's hand and press it to his heart. "What is it? What've they done to him?"

Mabeuf sighs. "From what I can tell, they've blocked his magic."

"Blocked--? So he can't use magic now?"

"Right."

No one seems to know what to say to this. Certainly, Jehan doesn't. To be blocked from using magic-- that's a horrible fate, especially for a house leader. Enjolras has spent most of his life honing his skills, practicing, researching, studying; he was going to make a name for himself, going to make a difference in the magic world. And now he can't do any of that. For all intents and purposes, his life is over. 

"I'm so sorry," Jehan whispers, doubled over on themself, grief and guilt twisting in their belly like a knife. All of this, everything that's happened, it's all their fault. They're the one who raised Montparnasse, and because of that, this chain of events was set in motion. If anyone deserves to have their magic taken away, it's them, but instead the unthinkable thing had happened to Enjolras, an innocent, someone wholly undeserving of such a travesty. 

And it can never be undone, that's the worst part. The most insidious part of blood magic is its permanence. There's no hope for Enjolras, none at all. He's never going to be able to live the life he's dreamed of, never going to change the world. Jehan swipes angrily at their eyes, hating themself. 

"Enjolras, I'm so sorry."

"This is my fault," says Montparnasse hollowly. Jehan looks at him.

"What?"

"If I hadn't gotten word to Claquesous and the others that I was back, this never would have happened. I did this."

"But you didn't know--"

"I should have known. I've seen how the world works. I should have thought, should have... and I didn't, and now Enjolras's life is ruined. I wanted so much to change my life and become a better person, but in the end, all I've done is hurt someone I love beyond repair."

"Is there any way to fix this?" asks Combeferre harshly. Ey sounds so different than ey usually does, and it’s frightening. Mabeuf, obviously worried by the change in em, thinks about it hard. 

"I've heard stories," he says finally. "But they're just that, stories. No one I know has ever been able to undo blood magic."

"What stories?" Combeferre demands. "If there's anything that could help, we need to know, now."

Mabeuf stands and goes over to the bookcase at the back of the room. He rummages through it, until finally he comes back with an old notebook, torn and fraying at the edges. He lays it on the table and begins to flip through it. 

"I know it's somewhere here... ah. Yes, here we are."

Jehan crowds up to look at the notebook. It's written in runes, but they can do their best to translate. "People can't reverse blood magic," they read. "But fire reverse fire, sticks reverse... what?"

"Probably fire against fire, and bone against bone," Combeferre cuts in, peering over their shoulder. Ey frowns, scratching a hand through eir hair. "What does that mean?"

"Is that all there is?" asks Grantaire.

"No, there's this line, but I'm having trouble reading it. Wait one moment." Combeferre takes the notebook in eir hand and squints at it, while everyone waits in anticipation. Finally, ey nods. "A quarry is good to stand on."

"What?"

"I'm sure I'm reading this right. This rune could mean _stone_ or _tooth_ in isolation, but with this one that means _pit_ , it almost certainly refers to a quarry, or a mine. And this expression here is one that we still use today-- _ground made solid_."

"We don't distrust your translation skills," says Jehan. "But what in the name of the earth itself does that mean?"

"Ah, well that escapes me."

"I wonder," says Montparnasse thoughtfully. "It sounds a bit like the riddles that we used to tell each other as children. _Two twin doors that open and close, telling you how a story goes_... you know."

"What does that mean?" asks Courfeyrac. 

"Eyes."

Jehan tugs at his hand. "Montparnasse! Does that mean you could figure out what this is trying to say?"

"Maybe. But what good would it do? You heard Combeferre; blood magic can't be undone."

"It wouldn't hurt to try. It's not like Enjolras's condition is going to get any worse."

Mabeuf clears his throat. "Actually..."

Jehan turns to look at him, terror churning in their stomach. "What?"

"Magic is tied to one's life force. In this case, I believe that Enjolras has remained asleep because his magic was blocked. It's likely that he can't wake up, because his very life energy has had a barrier put in its way. If we were to try and fix that, and fail, it could disturb the delicate balance, and, well..."

"He could die," whispers Jehan. Mabeuf bows his head.

"Yes."

"So there's nothing we can do?" Grantaire breaks in. There are tears in the back of his voice, but he sounds angry, too, as if he wants to personally fight the forces that made Enjolras like this. "Mabeuf, isn't there some way to fix this? There has to be something."

"I don't know. Undoing blood magic isn't humanly possible, so I don't see how even the hints in this notebook could help."

"Wait." Montparnasse looks up, eyes narrowed. "You said it's not _humanly possible_ to undo blood magic."

"Yes."

"But what if it wasn't undone by a human?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean me. What if I tried it?"

"But you're..."

"He's not, not quite," says Jehan. "I, well. I raised him. He's undead."

Mabeuf's eyes look like they're about to pop out of their sockets. His mouth opens, but he doesn't speak for some minutes, presumably too shocked, or maybe horrified. 

"Jehan," he finally gets out. "You raised a soul?"

"A guilty soul at that," says Montparnasse, sounding proud. Poor Mabeuf looks like he's about to faint.

"A guilty soul..."

"So he's not really human," says Jehan. "He's a person, no doubt about that. But in the strictest sense of the word..."

"I'm an undead abomination," finishes Montparnasse cheerfully. 

"Oh."

It seems to be all Mabeuf can say. He looks down at the table, maybe regretting having taken Montparnasse in. Jehan, feeling bad for him, puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I know it's a shock."

"It's, well." Mabeuf looks pleadingly at Montparnasse. "You act so human, though."

"Because Jehan's right. Maybe I'm not a human as defined by whatever laws dictate what humans are, but I'm a person. I have a soul."

"I know you do," says Mabeuf, and then, rallying himself a bit, "You _are_ a person, my boy. I believe that."

"Thank you."

"So do you think his idea would work?" asks Jehan. "You know, having him try to counter the blood magic instead of us?"

Mabeuf thinks deeply about it. "It could. But it could also kill Enjolras. I can't say which one is more likely."

"Well, I say we should go through with it," says Combeferre unexpectedly. Everyone turns at once to look at em.

"Really?"

"Yes. I don't want Enjolras to die, but I know that he would consider it a fate worse than death to live out the rest of his life asleep. He doesn't fear death, but he does fear inactivity, so for him, trying to wake him and failing would be better than leaving him like this forever."

"But he could die," says Courfeyrac, and sniffles. "I don't want him to die."

"I don't either. But think of him. What would he say?"

Courfeyrac thinks. "He would want us to try waking him," he finally says in a small voice. Combeferre nods.

"That's what we have to do."

They may be assured now, but it takes awhile to convince the others, particularly Grantaire. None of them are happy at the prospect of Enjolras facing possible death, even though they do admit that it's probably what he would want. Finally, though, Combeferre suggests that they hold a vote, and when the majority advocates for trying to wake him, no one can object anymore. 

"You'll just have to do it right," Grantaire tells Montparnasse. "Don't let any harm come to him, you hear?"

"I'll do my best."

"Best isn't good enough. I need your assurance."

"Grantaire, that's enough," says Cosette. "Now, please come and sit down with me. Montparnasse is going to work on figuring this out, and he can't be distracted."

Grumbling, Grantaire accedes to this and sits down on the cushions with her. They begin talking together in low voices. Meanwhile, Jehan takes the notebook from Montparnasse and looks at it again, as if hoping there's something there that they missed.

"What does it mean, a mine is a good thing to stand on?" they ask. "Montparnasse, you grew up in the mining district, didn't you? Can you tell what this means?"

"It's strange," Montparnasse says. "Mines _aren't_ really good things to stand on. You might fall in."

"How do you even stand on a mine anyway? Aren't they just pits in the ground?"

"Yes, but we put a scaffolding on top so that people can work above and below ground. But the scaffolding isn't perfect, and a lot of the time, you can fall in if you're not careful. So I don't understand this."

"Think about it," Jehan urges them. "How could this be applicable to blood magic?"

Montparnasse chews on his lip, thinking hard. He starts to bounce his knee up and down. "A mine is... and so blood magic must be this way... wait."

Jehan sits up. "Did you think of something?"

"Maybe the mine itself isn't what's good to stand on. Maybe the mine is the effects of the blood magic, and falling in is the danger associated with it."

"But that makes no sense."

"Yes, it does. Think about it. It's good to stand on a mine, because you don't want to be in it. And it's good to get out of blood magic, because you don't want the effects. Do you see?"

"I do," says Jehan slowly. "But don't you think that's sort of obvious? Why would that be some special hint?"

"I wonder if..."

"What?"

"Maybe it's telling us to build a scaffold."

"That is to say--?"

Montparnasse seems to be thinking about how to phrase his next words. Jehan hopes he phrases them intelligibly, because they don't really understand what's going on. 

"We should do something to go over the effects of the blood magic," he says after a pause. "That way, we don't need to undo what's already been done; we just need to counteract with additional magic."

Suddenly, Jehan understands. "Fire against fire, bone against bone. It's telling us to use blood magic to counteract blood magic."

Montparnasse smiles at them. "Look at you, being brilliant."

"And you, too."

Montparnasse's smile grows even wider. He kisses Jehan quickly on the cheek, just a butterfly swish of a thing, then looks at Mabeuf, who's been watching them talk. 

"We figured it out."

"I knew you would." Mabeuf closes the notebook, as if to say that it's their turn for action now. "What would you like to cast on top of this blood magic?"

"I have an idea," says Combeferre, which is welcome, because Jehan doesn't know the first place to begin. "What if we blocked the block? I mean, the block just means that if Enjolras uses magic, he'll suffer consequences, right? So what if we blocked those consequences?"

"It can't be that easy," Montparnasse scoffs, but Mabeuf hums thoughtfully.

"You may be onto something, my child. I wonder if that would work."

"But we would have to know what the consequences of him using magic are," says Jehan. "How could we possibly find that out?"

"I'll find the person who did this to him and hit them until they squeak," growls Montparnasse, but Mabeuf shakes his head.

"No need. I can do a dreamwalking spell and speak to Enjolras directly."

"Let me do it," pleads Grantaire, somehow having heard. Mabeuf looks genuinely distressed as he shakes his head again.

"I'm sorry, my boy. I know he's special to you. But dreamwalking is difficult, and I would rather it be left to me."

"But..."

"Please. Enjolras's life could depend on this."

"All right." Grantaire sits back against the cushions again. "Just, please. Tell him I love him, will you?"

"I will."

Mabeuf gathers ingredients from the cupboard in the back and lays them out. He finds a spellbook, though Jehan isn't sure how he knows which one, since he has so many, and sits down to begin casting.

"Please don't be alarmed," he says. "It will look as if I have suddenly fallen asleep, and I will have, in a way, but I'm all right. Don't try to wake me, or it will break the spell."

Everyone voices their understanding, so Mabeuf begins his spell. It's a difficult one, clearly, and Jehan is glad that Grantaire agreed to leave it to the professional in the room. It takes many minutes before it's finished. However, it's clear when it is, because Mabeuf's eyes close and he slumps over onto the cushions beside him, apparently asleep. Jehan watches him anxiously for awhile, although he doesn't make a move.

"Do you think he's talking to Enjolras now?" they ask, after almost fifteen minutes have passed in silence.

"I hope so." Cosette turns to Combeferre. "How does dreamwalking work, anyway?"

Combeferre is set to answer, but at this moment, Mabeuf awakens and sits up, adjusting his glasses and patting his spine.

"Ah, so I'm back."

"Did it work?" come several breathless voices. Mabeuf nods.

"Yes, I made contact with him."

"And what did he say?"

"First, he told me to tell you all that he loves you very much, and he wants to thank Montparnasse for rescuing him. And he said to tell Grantaire that he's his sun and stars, and that he loves him beyond all words."

Grantaire swipes at his eyes. "Thank you."

"But what about his magic?" Jehan wants to know. "Did he say anything about that?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"He said the consequence is eternal sleep."

"But then... that would mean..."

"Yes. He used magic. He knew this would happen, and he used magic anyway."

"But what could be so important that he would give up his life for it?" cries Grantaire. Mabeuf sighs. 

"It was for all of you."

"What? For us? What did he do?"

"He wouldn't tell me. All he said was that you were in danger, and he had to do something."

"He must have succeeded," says Montparnasse. "Claquesous said he'd never touch any of you again."

The others begin to talk amongst themselves, praising and decrying Enjolras in equal part, but Jehan can't say anything. They don't even know what they're feeling, and it's all too much. Enjolras sacrificed himself to save them all, knowing fully that he would be plunged into an eternal sleep from which there would be no return, and they hadn't been there to stop him or take his place. This is all their fault anyway, because they'd been headstrong and selfish, had arrogantly decided that their own magical experimentation was more important than any consequences. They don't regret raising Montparnasse, but they still feel horrible for everything they've caused.

"Is there anything we can do?" they ask. "Since he's used magic already, will it work to block the blocking factor?"

"We can try," says Mabeuf grimly. "Enjolras told me the same. He said he would rather die than live in eternal sleep."

"Of course he did." Jehan points to Montparnasse. "Do you think it would help if he did it? Since he's not human."

"Perhaps. It would be something, at least, and we must do all we can."

"Then, let me do it," says Montparnasse. 

Mabeuf looks pleased, as if this is the answer he'd been waiting to hear. "Combeferre," he says. "May we use the workshop in the Musain? There's more space there, and better facilities."

"Of course." Combeferre stands up. "Shall we accompany you?"

"You can come back to the house with us," says Mabeuf. "But I would rather you stayed out of the room while we work. It's a rather delicate process, you know."

"All right." Combeferre gestures to the others, and one by one, they all join em in standing. "Shall we go?"

"Let's go," agrees Courfeyrac.

Jehan gets up too, even though they still feel as if there are lead weights tied to their body. They can barely believe this is happening, that bright, vibrant Enjolras might very well spend the rest of his life, however short it might be, in cold slumber. Just a few hours ago, he'd been awake, talking and moving about, shining his radiant presence around to all. And now, he might die. Jehan presses their nails into the palm of their hand, trying to drown out the swell of pain in their chest. 

"I'm so sorry," they say.

"No one is blaming you," Cosette tells them gently. "I know you feel that you're responsible for this because you raised Montparnasse and that started all of this, but you can't dwell on that. What's done is done. Life's journey had this twist, and now we need to deal with it as best we can, even though it hurts."

"But Enjolras..."

"Will wake up. I believe that."

"How?"

"I feel it in my heart." Cosette smiles and reaches out to take Jehan's hand. "Come on. Let's get back to the house."

Jehan allows themself to be led out of Mabeuf's rooms and off to the Musain, and although their head won't stop spinning, at least their chest doesn't hurt quite so much now. Cosette's faith is infectious in its own way, even if they can't quite share it. 

This is awful, probably one of the worst situations Jehan has ever witnessed with their own eyes, but still, Cosette is right. They have to figure out what to do now. Dwelling on it won't help a thing. So, they tug open the doors to the workshop and allow first Mabeuf, then Montparnasse (who's carrying Enjolras) to walk in. 

"Go," they say. "And do your best."

"We will," Montparnasse tells them. "Don't worry. We can do this."

And as they close the door, Jehan believes it.

\--

Nothing can compare in horrid tension to the interminable hours that Jehan spends waiting for Mabeuf and Montparnasse to wake Enjolras. They aren't even aware of what they're doing; they wander through the house as if in a dream, unable to eat or rest or even sit down for longer than a few minutes. The others plead with them to take a break from their roaming, but they can't. It's too much for them. They're certain they're going to break, and then their friends will have to deal with the loss of two members of their house instead of one. 

But they don't break, somehow, or at least they don't get the chance to, because after nearly twelve hours, Mabeuf comes out of the workshop and into the common room, where everyone has been waiting for nearly the whole time, wanting to be together. Jehan's heart nearly gives out, until they see that he's smiling.

"He's awake," he says.

Grantaire makes an inhuman sound and sinks facefirst to the floor, weeping aloud. Jehan isn't really sure why this is happening now instead of before, when Enjolras’s life had been in danger, but they go over to him anyway and wrap an arm around his broad shoulders. 

"Hey, it's all right."

"My angel," Grantaire gets out, and then says nothing more, too lost in his sobs. Jehan rubs his back, not sure what else to do. The poor man is obviously feeling something momentous, and they don't want to intrude on his emotion. 

"Would you like to come and see him?" asks Mabeuf, perhaps puzzled by Grantaire's crying as well. Grantaire just barely manages to kneel up and nod.

"Please."

"Then, let's go to the workshop. But be careful, he's still very weak."

Together, everyone goes to the workshop, no one wanting to be left behind. They all try to crowd through the door at once, until Combeferre bodily pushes everyone else aside and rushes in.

"Enjolras!"

Enjolras looks up. He's lying on Montparnasse's lap, and he really does look weak, but at least he's alive, and _awake_. Combeferre runs to him and takes his face in eir hands.

"Oh, Enjolras. I'm so glad." 

"I'm glad, too." And with this, Enjolras's pretty eyes fill with tears, and he turns and presses his face into Montparnasse's lap to muffle his sobs.

What is it with Jehan's friends and crying after the fact? Jehan is bemused, but they're also ecstatic to see that Enjolras is all right, so they go over to him and lift him off Montparnasse's lap.

"Come here, I want to hold you."

"Jehan!" Enjolras clasps his little arms around their neck and buries a tear-wet face against their shoulder. They pat him until Grantaire comes rumbling over and steals him away, too impatient to wait a second longer. 

"My love," he says, and then they're lip-locked, kissing like it's all they can do. Jehan knows they won't be done for quite awhile, so they turn away and go to Montparnasse, ready for some loving of their own. 

"Montparnasse," they say. 

"Freckles."

Montparnasse stretches out his arms, and Jehan goes to them, fitting naturally as if this is where they're meant to be. And, maybe it is. They've waited so long and worked so hard, and maybe the road hasn't been easy, but it's led them to a wonderful place, here with Montparnasse and all their friends, safe and secure at last. 

“Welcome back,” they say. 

Montparnasse smiles, and there’s a light in his eyes when he says, "I’m staying.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I couldn’t leave the Musain— or you.”

Jehan doesn’t think they could smile any bigger if they tried. They wrap their arms tighter around Montparnasse, not as a struggle to keep him, but as a physical manifestation of their love. Now they can hold him, and they never have to worry that he’ll go away.

“I love you,” they say.

Montparnasse kisses them on the head. “And I love you.”

That's all that needs to be said for now. From then on, everything dissolves into sweetness and kisses, neither of them even caring that their friends are here. They've both waited so long for this, and now that the time is here, it can't be delayed any longer.

The rest of the night goes beautifully. Grantaire moves Enjolras out to the common room and makes him some porridge with fish sauce and vegetables, and Enjolras, hungry after his ordeal, likes it so much that he demands that everyone else have some, too. So Grantaire makes a big pot, and everyone eats it up, curled around each other in a warm, comfortable pile. 

Jehan is tucked up against Montparnasse, too contented to move. Once they're done eating, they lazily sweep aside their dishes, silently agreeing to do the clean-up later. They tilt their head up to smile at Montparnasse, who's done the exact same thing. 

"I love you."

"That was sudden as a star," Montparnasse says. "Does food always make you affectionate? Should I cook for you?"

"I wouldn't say no." Jehan laughs. "But in serious, I'm so happy to be here with you. I love you so much."

“I could say the exact same thing,” Montparnasse tells them. “And I have to tell you, thank you for trusting me.”

“I’ve trusted you for awhile now.”

“I can see that, after everything that happened yesterday. You’re amazing.”

“You’re the amazing one, really. You saved Enjolras’s life.”

“I was the reason his life needed saving, though. I’m not sure it’s anything to be proud of.”

"It is," Jehan says. "Besides, the blame isn't all on you. It's on me, too."

"What, for raising me?"

"Yes. Can I apologize for that again?"

"No need." Montparnasse's voice is as warm as his eyes. "I know it caused a lot of problems and put a lot of fish in the puddle, and maybe it's selfish of me to say this, but I'm glad you raised me. I've had the chance to meet everyone-- and to meet you-- and to change my life. Now, I can finally be proud of the person I am."

His words are simple, but there's great emotion behind them. Jehan can feel it pouring out of him, too great to hold. And it makes sense; it's nothing short of a miracle from his perspective that he had a chance to change his life, become the person he's always wanted to be.

Because, Jehan knows, sure as anything, that he's always wanted to be good. There's so much goodness inside him, and  now it's finally getting the chance to shine through. 

"I'm proud of you too," Jehan says. Montparnasse kisses their head.

"That means so much to me."

Jehan looks around the room. All of their friends are there, some spread out, some cuddling, but all safe and warm and happy. Even the terrifying events of the past 24 hours couldn't dim any of the light shining through the Musain, light that touches each soul and makes it glow all the brighter. This is what happiness is, they think, and then, with a sudden clarity, they realize something else.

"I trust us." 

Montparnasse makes a noise that's half a question and half an invitation to go on. Jehan searches for the words, picking through and the possible sentences in their head, until they have it sorted what they're trying to say.

"This past day has been a pickered mess of a disaster. I don't think we've ever faced anything that bruising before. And still, we did it all out, and I know we'll do it again when we need to. That's faith, isn't it? I trust us. We're going to face everything that comes at us, and we're going to win."

"That's faith indeed." Montparnasse kisses them on the cheek, then on the lips. He's smiling all through. "I'm so proud of you, Jehan, just as you're proud of me. You've grown so much since I met you."

"And I'm going to grow more."

"I'm excited to see it."

Jehan smiles, and sighs in pure contentment. They know, sure as anything, that their story has only just begun. They're not done growing or learning yet, and they hope they never will be. This is a turning point; from here on out, they know they'll continue to bloom like the most beautiful of flowers, opening their heart and soul to the world around them, and blossoming in the brightest, most brilliant way they can. They clasp Montparnasse's hand in theirs and lace their fingers together. 

"Long live the future," they say.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)  
>  title from [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pdrnVf6zCE)


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